


Reserata Carcerum-Part One

by Natrix



Series: Reserata Carcerum [1]
Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Dread, Eventual Smut, F/M, Original Character(s), Predator/Prey, Sensuality, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Submission, Tension, sensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25047457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natrix/pseuds/Natrix
Summary: Sophie Harker, at the suggestion of her soon to be step mother Mina Harker, joins her father on her journey to Transylvania. What should have been a bonding experience and created lasting memories between her and her father before his new marriage becomes a fight for their lives and ultimately Sophie's own spirit as she is put in contest to the vile, enigmatic count Dracula.Bit of a slow burn(?) erotic.
Relationships: Dracula & Original Character(s)
Series: Reserata Carcerum [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849231
Comments: 61
Kudos: 80





	1. Sophie Harkers Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we come to know Sophie Harker

**_Sophie Harker's Diary_ **

**_March 14th 1897_ **

* * *

I have begun this journal in anticipation of the Journey to be taken across Europe with my father Jonathan Harker. The source of this suggestion was my father's new Fiancé, Mina Murray, who has been 'acting' as governess to myself and my dearest friend Lucy Westenra for the past four years. 

Acting , I say because of the deceitful ways in which I have only just realized she has through me gained access to my all to amiable father. The discovery of this came after I had the misfortune to come upon them 'discussing' my education quite improperly 'lip to lip' you could say beneath the wisteria upon the grounds of the Westenra's family estate. 

I admit thereafter I may have taken this betrayal out on my studies and Lucy, eager for this diversion herself, was all too pleased to aid in my rebellion. It was then of little surprise that Miss Murray sought some way of removing me. She told my father she believed that I was being ill influenced by Lucy's 'free' ways which, she claimed, was a tendency within those of wealth and high breeding which invariably do a child of 'lesser status' poorly. 

My father, having recently begun to put together affairs and travel arrangements to finalize a deal with a very wealthy and foreign client was so suggested by Miss Murray that I might join him. As soon I was to be considered a woman of my own and find myself within some profession, I had of course been much of my fathers secretary growing up so my attendance to Transylvania was not especially unprofessional. Mina thought it was quite a fine idea that we might spend some quality time with one another, before (and of course this is inferred) my father had no time for me at all. 

Likely she hopes my father will grow sick of me and be pleased to promise my hand to the first foreigner in order to be rid of me. If this is the case I will be pleased to disappoint her, as my father and I have always had an enduring affection which I have no doubt will only strengthen by our time spent together.

It was Lucy I suppose who changed my opinion of the journey. Lucy has a way of changing one's mind in a way that I have always envied. She began by pouting about all the exotic places I might see, or exotic men I meet. Further she went on to add how lucky I was to have a father who doted on me so and that I might use this time fruitfully before Miss Murray came decidedly between us. 

Though I am honestly less interested in finding myself among 'exotic' male attention, Lucy spoke so much of all this terrible jealousy of my trip that eventually I realized that I really was going. Lucy's easy certainty became my own acceptance. 

The next few weeks were spent with her lamenting my departure as if I had myself had arranged and fixed myself to go. This fickle turnaround is typical of Lucy's nature but It is ultimately a very good nature at its heart. I will miss her most sincerely but I have promised to write to her often. 

Miss Murray, soon to be my stepmother seems equally pleased to be rid of me, though I suspect it would please her all the greater to send me away to complete my father's business and allow them to elope into marital bliss. But I digress, perhaps Miss Murray not all so cold as all that.

I can admit my own sensitivity to this has jaded me and at the discovery of my father's new devotions it destroyed the easy affection we once shared. Apart I think lay in our closeness of age and having seen Miss Murray as something of an older sister, to have her now as a Mother ?

For as long as I can remember just my father and I, my mother being only a picture, which my father claims I hold most likeness to. It is true that my father and I share little familial traits, even our eyes which some insist are similar are quite different, his sky blue and mine almost grey.

As a child overheard a rumour that has haunted me since, that my father and mother married young because she was gotten up out of wedlock as she worked for the Westenra household, and my father an honourable man had saved her from ruin by marrying her before she began to show. Perhaps then, though I do not care to admit it, this is where my real injury upon finding out about Miss Murray and my father struck. 

Soon turn eighteen, a woman in my own right set to enter some career though for marriage seems out of the question as far as I can imagine, and I am not yet out the door before I am to be traded for this young mistress . 

Mina, petite and fair and fine, the truest of British delicacy, and an absolute antithesis to my own mother who was of dark hair and dark eyes and said to have some 'dark' blood in her, tall and statuesque with a full strong shape of which I myself seem to have inherited.

These insecurities and fears arose again at the announcement of their intentions to marry, made all the more acute by my father's increasing distance from me with the excuse of greater responsibilities at work, a job I had played secretary for him since I had begun learning letters.

I will stop here then, feeling somewhat better to put these dark thoughts to the page and shall now reserve this journal for the journey ahead of us which I find myself growing warmer to by the day.

* * *

_ There are many entries herein that hold no import to the story, so the chapter of importance begins upon the entry below _

* * *

_ April 4th 1897 _

We have arrived into a village nestled in the foothills of the Carpathians, very near to our destination. The village of Bistritz is a simple village nestled among the ever deepening forests not unlike many we've passed along our journey if not for the increasing tendency both my father and I have remarked for superstition and queer marrying of these superstitions to catholic beliefs. As we entered I enjoyed my view from the carriage window and noticed markings above each door we passed and brought this to fathers attention as we'd often made this our game to guess at the possible meanings of things.

So I began, "what do you make of those marks above their doors?"

"Perhaps a style of decoration?" Father lacked a certain creativity, but he was a good sport. I considered what might most provoke him, which as his daughter had become my game. 

"I would guess, a ritual sacrifice of some innocent to keep the devil at bay." 

"Sophie!" He said, aghast he started up from his letter disturbed, but saw my teasing expression and relaxed. "Perhaps I should be applying a more instructive hand to whatever books give you such ideas."

"I seem to remember reading somewhere about firstborns and the plagues of Egypt." Father laughed, returning to look at his letter. "Is Miss Murray well?" I noted how easily my father's cheeks flushed at this simple mention, like a school boy in love. 

"She's quite well." He said, clearing his thoughts and looking for all the world a little guilty, which made me wonder what it was my previous school mistress could be writing to my father. Curious I angled myself to attempt to catch the words written by her slanted small script. My father pulled the letter out of sight hurriedly. "They are private letters Sophie, I don't snoop in your letters to Lucy, though it might well be a father's right."

"And what of daughters rights?" I challenged him, but was still in jest and I sat back. The carriage was coming to a stop.

Through the small carriage window was a house of somewhat larger size and grandeur than the others which marked it as a house of a family of higher status, and I noted that above this door was no such mark as all the others carried. In their place was a garden of red flowers in full bloom, a rarity for so early in spring.

My legs were awfully stiff and the carriage had not fully come to a stop before I opened the door and stepped out and down. 

"Be careful!" My father intoned in warning, still organizing his papers as I hopped out to land on the hard compacted soil of the road, the aches within giving a pleasing ache of relief.

I had eyes only for the flowers, deep red and a desire to sample the fragrance to compare it to those roses I knew so well from the gardens of England.  **I** moved to cup one to my nose a wicked thorn pricked my unwary finger.

"You must be careful young lady." Came a caution behind my shoulder, a woman who held a countenance as grave as the low rasp of her thick accented English. My finger stinging, I soothed it on my tongue. 

"Forgive me I was only admiring their beauty." It was difficult to meet this woman's gaze, I couldn't help but feel childish and small beneath the austere, caustic way in which she regarded me under grey eyes and steel brow. Beneath that look it seemed as if the air itself became cooler, and I was surprised that the flowers could bloom under such a frost.

"It is not the flowers that concern me but the blood, beware here where you spill it." I was quite at a loss for words at this gravely given advice.

"Lady Vaduva? Jonathan Harker, this is my daughter Sophie Harker." My father carried his case beneath an arm and broke the tension at this easy introduction though the woman's severe look did not change much as she regarded him with a small respectful bow.

"My Lord has of course arranged everything. It is a pleasure Mr. Harker, Missus Harker. Allow Gregory to take your things." She said and turned towards the house and waved to a large man who had been sitting on the small porch watching all the while. 

* * *

We settled and ate a dinner which was luckily quite agreeable in its simplicity. Chicken and potatoes with a gravy and fresh herbs. The family by my accounting was ruled by its matriarch, this Lady Vaduva, who as the colour of her hair indicated dictated them with an iron fist. There was no sign of a father, except through the two children. Gregory was a large simple sort of creature and a daughter. 

Marianne was a girl my own age, but I was soon disappointed to find she was of the same reserve of her own mother. Speaking very little and eating slowly without looking up from her plate. As Lucy would have put it, very boring indeed. To make matters worse it seemed I would be sharing the girls room with her. How that was to be when she could not do much other than push a potato around her plate? I could not imagine it being at all enjoyable.

I braced myself for icy silence after wishing my father a good evening as I followed my grim bed mate to her room.

To my surprise, as the door was closed behind us, I found her seated and looking at me now with open curiosity and interest.

"You are from... London?" She inquired in that broken English which I had grown accustomed to in our travels. I confirmed this. "It is very beautiful there?" I could see a real and keen interest and smiled.

" In a different way than here. Your forest is incomparable."

"Forests are for beasts not people." She said and I noted a queerness to that comment I couldn't quite place, but she continued, in a more cheerful way. "You do not have beasts in London?"

"Excepting men?" I asked, testing a teasing tone. She seemed to think about that for a moment before she smiled it was a small delicate thing, like a peony. Encouraged by this I continued, glad to speak to her in a familiar open way, "we have foxes and that sort of thing, but the last beast I saw was at the London zoo behind bars. Tigers and wolves and amazing collections of creatures from about the world." This marked the beginnings of some easy conversation which we fell into. It was not the banter Lucy and I shared, for many reasons beyond temperament, but it was warming to be with a girl my age again.

It was not until later that night that I considered the strange markings above the doors and tucked into the bed, before the light was dimmed I felt myself readying the question. 

"Marianne?" 

"Yes?" She shifted to face me in the bed. 

"I was only wondering... I saw markings above  some of the doors in the village I admit being a little curious..." In the not quite totally dark room I saw the unease mark Marianne's expression and I feared I perhaps stepped on one of those mysterious cultural improprieties. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. Never mind." 

"They say that lamb's blood left above the door will distract the evil which here. They will be distracted by the scent of the lamb above the door and feed there instead of on those within." My finger throbbed from the thorns prick as if to remind me of Lady Vaduva's warning about it being 'safe' to bleed.

"And your family does not share these superstitions?" I was expecting her to say no, but there was another long quiet moment of consideration where I once again considered that I should keep my foot in my mouth.

"My family... has no protection from the creature. It is said once he is invited he may come and go as he pleases. We instead must pay him tribute... and offer services." I admit I scoffed at this idea but censoring this I nodded hoping she couldn't see my reluctant agreement by the shadows. 

Still, that night my sleep did not agree with me, the thorn in which I was pricked aching and I felt visited by many dreams which left me without the feeling of sleep though I could not remember even the faintest shadow of them when I woke. 

It is morning now, and we are gathering to leave for the last stretch of our journey. To castle Dracula.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you will enjoy this work, please comment to let me know what you think. :)  
> This work will be slower burn.  
> Edited as of 11/05/2020


	2. April 5th 1897

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sophie and Jonathan arrive at Castle Dracula.  
> Edited 11/05/2020

**_Sophie Harker's Diary_ **

**_April 5th 1897_ **

* * *

There was such solemnity in our leaving that I wondered what these people reserved for their funeral processions. Marianne had returned to her reluctantly quiet self but as we left she broke towards the carriage and unlaced from her neck something in which she extended for me to take. From behind I could see her mother watching with displeasure.

"What's this?" I asked, surprised by this sudden generosity as she placed a beautiful cross that settled heavy and warm into my hand. Warmed as she'd taken it from her own breast. 

"Promise me to wear it always?" This insistence was given with such sincerity I dared to do nothing but accept it, and felt the need at least to give some gift in return and thinking quickly aware of the heavy impatience of the driver whose horses were stomping and the cold gaze of Marianne's mother, I hurriedly untwisted my scarf. 

For you then." I said, and she smiled although, with a terrible sadness in her face, accepting the gift she held it to her chest as if it was a great treasure.

"I will pray for you, and you Mr. Harker. May god not desert you." 

"Goodbye." I said, for what can one respond with to such a departure?

"Bit of a strange sort I admit." Father admitted giving one of his nervous laughs which I knew to mean that he'd been particularly uncomfortable. 

"I was right you know," I announced watching the scene disappear behind us.

"About what dearest?" Father was beginning to pen his letter to Miss Murray, we'd both grown expert at writing while moving in the trundling carriage. Soon I would be penning mine to Lucy.

"Over the doors, it was a sacrifice . Blood of a lamb to keep away _evil spirits_. Worse still Marianne said that her family are forced to pay this evil spirit tribute. Likely the creature has some preference for beautiful maidens. Do you think we are in some danger?" I emphasized my mocking by dramatic exaggeration of my brows. Father looked up rather seriously at this.

“I suppose I shall have to be on guard." He announced looking terribly sincere, and I felt then like a happy little girl again.

It must be the trick of time to make it feel as the nearer we get to something the longer it seems to take. My father too must have been affected by the same nervous agitation as I which left me unable to focus on my reading, for he began to go over again, that which we'd discussed many times before.

"By all accounts its likely just to be a few paper signings, we're not to impose ourselves." He said, tapping his long fingers across his case, a habit I had inherited, and he must have seen my annoyed expression at having this all brought up again, and he sighed. "I just know after such a long journey it must be disappointing, I only want you to have the right expectations . It's a business transaction, formerly and in that capacity you're here as my secretary." He spoke as if I was arguing with him. 

"And maid." For I'd often found myself straightening out my father's effects in the places we'd stopped which had led me to the conclusion that marrying a governess was likely a very practical marriage choice for him after all. 

Father continued on without pause like I hadn't spoken.

"I only don't want you to be disappointed. Everything I can gather leaves me to believe he's a rather odd sort himself." He made another uneasy face and tapped his long fingers again. I decided for once to opt for sincerity, if only for his nervous disposition and laid my hand upon his.

"There are plenty of castles for which I am sure to see Papa, I took this journey to spend it with you, for which It's not possible for me to be disappointed." 

"You're so much like your mother when you do that." He said and I admit I was affected by his words especially as he put his hand atop mine warmly.

"She was always taking the best of things, she had a steadiness about her. I see much of that in you." I warmed to these sentiments, even as they created a reminder of that loss, for these qualities which he attributed to me were those which I admired most and endeavoured to be. 

I rested for some time waking as the movement of the carriage ceased, then became alert first to the distant cry in the air I recognized as the open chorus of wolves. **My** my eyes opened to see my father parting the blinds looking bothered.

"Have we arrived?" Rubbing the sleep from my eyes I was aware of how purple the sky was, and how rapidly darkness was approaching. 

"No, perhaps there is some issue with the road..." He opened the carriage door and the bite of the air from without spoke of the altitude for which we'd ascended. The air nipped and snow cloaked the ground. The wolves cried which I understood to be the noise that had awoken me, their howls rose but at some distance, though was no less ominous. I took the opportunity to rise to stretch my legs and exit the carriage, following my father.

"What do you mean you're leaving us here?" I could see my father's distress, the driver was setting our bags down in the snow, a large man with a wary shift to his eyes looking up the road which extended in the direction I assumed was that road we were meant to be taking.

"We go no further. He sends his driver."

"B-but how will he know we've arrived?" I marked the sincerity of the man's fear as he again looked up that desolate snow covered road as if he expected the hounds of hell to come rushing down it. "He knows, the Count... He finds people." At that he started the horses who seemed as eager as he to retreat, the man continued down the cross roads not towards Bistritz as we'd come but towards a direction I believed by the maps in which I had regarded would lead towards Hungary. 

“Can you believe this? No doubt more primitive superstition." My father said with a disgust which betrayed his distress because he so infrequently spoke ill of anybody.

"He took our letters at least." Attempting optimism for I felt the isolation extending about me as he, though two frightened people would be of little use. The trees swayed marked by the wind and carried those eerie cries which I feared were getting nearer. 'The forests are for the beasts', Marianne remarked, and I felt the depth of the gravity of her words from where I stood. The tree's seemed ancient, standing in silent judgment of us new intruders. This hostility carried by a wind which howled by us then, carrying an awful whipping moan which sent chills through me.

"We should, uh, stay close. Sophie, bring your bag." He said, ushering me, and for once I did not complain or tease for I was just as nervous as he and he tucked me under his arm as a mother duck might. Taking me beneath his cloak we waited for what seemed an unendurable length of time though I know not much could have passed for it was marked with the final descent of the sun. 

The wolves had gone quiet and as the light departed I was overcome with the uncanny feeling of being watched but could not sense the source of this, though I scanned the treeline which was quickly darkening so that my eyes began to strain to see through the veil of fading light. Holding my father I sought another comfort and found my hand at my breast clutching the cross which I had been gifted by Marianne. 

A snap of a twig from the ever deepening darkness of the great silver Spruce and Pine caused us both to start. He held the small lantern left to us up high, a jerky motion which swung, casting the light about and creating frantic shadows matching the increasing surge of our hearts within our breasts. 

"Sophie, perhaps we should find a-a branch." I swept my eyes around to the floor now. Snow still dominated this landscape but dark lines cut across upon the outskirts opposite of me, and I broke away to retrieve what I saw to be a sturdy weapon. Carrying my skirts in both hands and hurrying, the cold air licked my ankles.

As I bent a low grumble reverberated through the obscured place beyond my vision. So close I could almost feel the rolling purr of the noise hum in the air tickle my cheeks. My eyes jerked up to see two glinting orbs set up on my face, reflecting in a gleam of that frantic dancing light. My heart lodged in my throat like a stone, while my belly seemed to drop out.

A scream pierced the air, so loud it was as if claws raked through the air and the trees groaned. The sound of hoof beats and a rolling of a carriage which seemed to thunder, two enormous black stallions beginning to slow. Their banshee cry becoming a mere horses squeal, snorting and grunting these great beasts tromped the ground, displeased to stop. 

So captured was I by this entrance I felt a sudden terror of vulnerability and nearly fell back off balance in my fright to search the darkened edge of the sweeping pines. Though I squinted, after two stammering beats of my heart I felt my terror edge back. Nothing.

"Thank god!" Father ushered picking up our cases looking like he would make a run to meet the carriage which was still coming. I myself considered this but instead I reached father, and he became my ballast as we stood shaking ourselves free of our dread and convincing ourselves we had been quite silly. 

This relief was such that I admit I had no chance to greet the driver of the carriage beyond noting he was very well covered and had deep wrinkles about his eyes. 

Despite whatever age he bore he had our bags away with easy grace that marked him as a younger man than the flesh beside his eyes betrayed, and we were rapidly ushered inside the carriage with my father enumerating his gratitude to the man who remained grimly silent.

Inside was a note bearing the familiar script I'd seen of many of the Counts letters and a bottle of wine with two glasses.

_'To warm you before your arrival , I hope you have enjoyed the beauty of my lands, your friend,_

_D_.

"Very thoughtful." My father said and looked even more pleased at the year. "This bottle is a hundred years old!" He marked and offered me a look of the ancient cracked script upon the bottle and I and saw that this was true.

"Do you think he wants us half-rats?" I asked, eager to shed the tension still thinking about those eyes I had seen and rubbing the shudder from my arms. My father, uncorking the bottle and sniffing the contents with interest, offered it to my nose before responding. 

"I don't know about that, but I'm considering it." He said, and we both laughed a noise edged with the delirium of our shared relief.

We drank until warmed, and it was not until our arrival that I realized how affected I was as the carriage came to a halt and I found myself embarrassingly unsteady on my feet. 

"Oh dear." I might have said and my Father gave me an almost panicked look as if to say: ' business dear, remember we have to be professionals !' "I'm quite fine." I assured him, though I required his arm to steady me. Father had his case beside him and already laden turned back to ask the driver for some assistance.

"Driver do you think you could-" He began but the driver was disappearing away leaving us before an ill lit great door. I sensed despite my heated drunkenness a sort of decay about the place where I might have been expecting grandeur. 

"Strange sort." I muttered to father, for I could see the pulse dancing in his temple and gestured for the door. "I suppose we should-"

"Yes, I don't know about you dear but I'm finding myself rather eager to be done with strange sorts and leave travelling to younger men." 

"I shan't disagree papa," I said airily and an attempt for good spirits, likely only from partaking in 'spirits' of that other kind. We came forward and reached for the knocker but to our amazement the door swung open and back. A stone hall greeted us, and more bizarre was the buzz of flies accompanied by a strange sickly scent of decay which grew stronger as we entered. 

The door, quite on its own as it opened snapped shut just as abruptly and I nearly jumped out of my skin. 

"Drafty I think," my father said absently though neither of us had marked any sort of wind. 

We came upon a greater room with a high fire in a grate and a great winding stone staircase. To our amazement our bags were there, sitting beside the stairs, like we had only just missed the servants having placed them. We could have been in the depths of a cave with the uncanny echoing and dripping, the lights at every turn seemed to flicker casting peculiar shadows, and yet I would have sworn I had not felt even the slightest movement of air. 

“Hello! Anyone home?"

A foolish fear possessed me _'We shouldn't draw attention to ourselves'_ the hair on my neck stood like needles. I repressed this foolish notion, sweeping my eyes instead around me and saw that a table was laden with silverware and hot food. 

"Look Papa." Eager for this diversion I ignored the sightless gazes of the mounted heads which adorned the walls and upon reaching the table I lifted a silver lid. Noting the heat, and discovering sumptuous roast chicken, the scents rose overwhelming any which had been previously unpleasant to me and made my mouth and stomach cramp in eagerly. 

But where were the servants who set the feast? Beyond the empty gaze of those beasts above us, we were quite alone it seemed.

"It seems a pity to let it go cold." I remarked, hoping for my stomach's sake, and my constitution my father would agree. My father sighed admiring the new bottle of wine laid out, open and by his expression it was another fine one.

Then the light seemed to gutter, a mysterious motionless 'wind' and a shadow streaked across the table bringing with it a wave of cold chill. Thinking perhaps a rat had run across the railing above I discovered we were not in fact alone. 

I was taken aback by the sight of the man, for he was of such an incredible dizzy age and so fearsome I may have made a small noise of shock. My father, bless him, though fumbling himself jerked up in nervous greeting. 

"I-I'm sorry, the wine was open I assumed **-** Perhaps I could pour you some Count?" He asked, flustered as the oldest (and this I cannot emphasize enough), feral man peered down at us, unearthly pale and baring yellow crooked teeth; like one of those sightless rats who lived wrinkled and blind within the earth. 

"I do not drink... wine ." Whatever his true age his voice was strong, and it carried a weight that did not seem to echo with the other noises through the castle. "I bid you welcome Mr. Harker and friend , I am... Dracula." His cane clicked as he began to come down to meet us. The sound echoing and this seemed odd too because I would have thought we would have heard his approach, and yet I knew we had not. 

It was a painful journey for him to reach us, both an endurance of spirit to stand their waiting for him, and of nerves not to flee upon his approach (and actually force ourselves to approach him!). 

"Your journey has been... pleasant?"

"Well enough thank you." And my father accepted the Counts outstretched hand and made an awkward bow as if uncertain as the creature nodded, his hair hanging like cotton swathes from a bleached and liver spotted scalp. 

"Your gift in the carriage was considerably appreciated." My own articulation surprised me, the colour of my cheeks rising as I made my own curtsy of greeting.

His eyes like bleached bone studied me, and beneath them I felt exposed.

"Such lovely company you keep Mr. Harker, a wife perhaps?" His tongue peeped through the snaggle of teeth like a worm peeking through its fallow earth, pink and gleaming before darting back within. I flushed even higher at his assumption.

"Oh goodness no, my Daughter, Sophie, she is my acting secretary you could say." He was not any less fearsome or grotesque up close. 

"It's a pleasure to officially make your acquaintance Count Dracula." I offered my hand, as was proper and his hand capturing mine surprised me with its strength and to my disgust I felt the coarseness of hair within the palm. 

My body became rigid as he dipped his head apparently to kiss me and I fought the most urgent will to jerk my hand from his. I managed steadiness, and instead only my pulse jumped as his cool wrinkled mouth pressed firmly and I swore something dashed against my skin from between those lips, but such was a horror so repulsive that prefer to believe it was imagined rather than that worm tongue taking my taste. 

"The pleasure will certainly be mine." There was an awful intonation to those words, but of course I knew with his English being what it was perhaps he'd misspoken, relieved only to get my hand back which I was burning with urge to scrub upon my skirts, something I did as Father took the Count's attention bringing up his case.

While we sat and ate, our host who claimed to have eaten earlier sat to look over those crucial documents. I strove to eat with some delicacy despite my appetite. There was in companion to the chicken also a prime rib, tasting of cloves and glistening with yellow fat. It was mouth filling and deeply satisfying, accompanied by the wine which cut the fat and left a lingering tang gritty and delicious on my pallet. All too soon I was re-filling my glass.

"Your employer speaks very highly of you Mr. Harker." My father was eager to fill the awkward noises of our eating, but mid bite had to chew very hurriedly in which to do so.

"Yes," _chew, breath_ , "The property has been purchased in your name, everything is in order," an all too emphatic gesture with his knife. " I need only your signature on a few documents and Carfax abbey will be yours." Emphatic was a sign of my father's desperate impatience to make nice and leave . _'Happy, happy, smile smile, wave, kiss a few babies and be out the door quicker than a cocker spaniel bitch in heat.'_ It was something Lucy might say beneath her napkin, whispering beside me at the table. I tried not to titter into my wine glass.

"I am looking forward to England Mr. Harker, People here, they are so narrow . I wither among them. Um." He struggled, wrinkling his nose and showing his teeth again in that strange way he did. "They are..." he continued, " They are without flavor !" I was then myself taking a very flavorful bite of the marbled prime rib, tender as butter and I was pleased not to have space to laugh. Father though gave a puzzled chuckle and darted a look at me, which was perhaps a mistake because my eyes rounded dramatically, and he looked even more distressed.

"Perhaps you mean character ?" My father supplied, and the Count smiled appearing benign as a wolf.

"Perhaps." and they laughed. "This is good Mr. Harker, you must correct my English at all times. From you I will learn to pass among your countrymen as one of their own!" He said with such zest I was again faced with that peculiar dichotomy of his apparent age to his energy. I had never seen such an old creature with such vitality. 

"Your English is already excellent, Count."

"You flatter me."

"No! No I don't, even Sophie I'm sure will agree, Sophie?" I was not particularly enthused to be brought into this conversation but seeing the strain in my father's face I tried to lighten the situation and thought about what my dear friend Lucy might say, emboldened then as I was by the wine. 

"Though father is a shameless flatterer, I am not. I would say your English is very good. You may consider even the small accent may be of some favour in England." 

"And what favour would that be, Miss Harker?" I knew exactly what Lucy would say.

"Foreigners are known to attract more attention in feminine circles for one."

"Sophie!"

"Is that so?" He gave a chortling bestial laugh and I couldn't help but wonder what Lucy would think of him as my father objected to my suggestion with a cry of embarrassment.

"It's true papa!" I said defending myself, feeling accomplished in lightening the atmosphere at least a little, though it was not to last.

"I will have to take my chances with my own charm then Miss Harker, perhaps from you, I might be schooled in those cultural intricacies." 

"While I'm sure Sophie would be all too pleased Count, However I'm afraid we will be both leaving here tomorrow. We-we have to be returning to England. Immediately." 

Any humour which had marked that grotesque face deserted it instantly as if a sheet had been dropped off to reveal the blank granite below, devoid of any mask of pleasantry.

"No," Rounded, final. No.

"S-sorry?" 

I swallowed my wine feeling the tension rising. The Count waved his hand. A gesture to father as one might wave off a fly, which he very well could have been.

"Your apology is unnecessary. It has already been agreed." ' Could this be true?' I wondered and gave my father a look at this.

"With whom? " He demanded, as bewildered as I to hear this.

"With your superiors," My father's mouth dropped open but our host continued with the authority of aristocracy. "You will both stay for one month and assist me with my English and my understanding of your culture."

"But count w-we-"

"Do not - !" and he laughed seemingly at my father's look of distress and got up, beginning to walk with heavy use of his cane, joining us on our side of the table where we had sat opposite to him. He sneered, seeming to wilfully misinterpret my father's words. "Do not look so concerned Mr. Harker! You and your daughter are most welcome." And all too closely he gripped the backing of my chair so that the hairs on my neck stood like pins and the food in my throat seemed to settle half swallowed no longer flavorful but a hunk of tissue. 

"Count! Count Dracula I'm a lawyer and neither of us are teachers." Our host however was looking at me, his lips curled back over those yellowed teeth in the way a dog or ape might 'smile' as he answered. Leaning as he was I was forced to extend my neck up but also lean back so as to gain some distance.

"There will be no need to teach." He said and to my mortification he brought his hands to my cheek. Those hands with hair upon the palms, tickling my face repugnant as his finger traced to the edge of my lip. "Remain at my side and I will simply absorb you both." As he said this his finger wicked off my lip, and he made a motion to lick his finger, his tongue laying fat and pink above the snaggle teeth. 

My father was open-mouthed in mortified bewilderment at this turn and I, heated by the wine, flushed more so at this inappropriate exchange which left my skin crawling. 

As a girl having experienced the aggressive advances of officers in the last few years and as you could say nourished by my darling Lucy's bold attitude I found myself singularly capable of combating this unwelcome intrusion. Certain that this Count would bowl over and bully creatures of more gentile natures as my father was graced with, I was empowered as well by the wine which fuelled me to speak.

"If that is to be the case Count, then you should know that gestures such as what you just performed would be considered exceedingly inappropriate between a gentleman and an unmarried girl. The British you'll find are much more rigid in our standards of etiquette." 

The Count did not miss a beat or withdrawal much, still hovering with I daresay with an even more provocative look, seeming to take new stock of me and this time with a little more regard. He leaned in, leering lecherously.

"And what Misses Harker would a British gentleman do to invite such intimacies ?" He asked and I had to bite my lip because I wanted to laugh, for his gaze was of such plain goatish potency I struggled not to be at least a little... charmed for lack of a better word. Yes, despite the surge of indignation and discomfort I felt. Likely an effect of the wine I had to set my jaw, and force myself to be stern where I felt rather arch. 

"That Sir would be between the lady and the gentlemen." He was smiling, still goatish. Yes despite his hideousness, the strange barbarity of movements there was something **intensely** potent, likely the arrogant remnants of life as a powerful youth. 

I had met such sorts before, in Lucy's world they were the sorts that would wrap Lucy around her finger instead of the other way around as she preferred it. Therefore, she had an excellent eye and the greater sense of self-preservation not to entertain them for long. 

"I will keep that under advisement." He said, without a hint of apology and he withdrew. "If you are finished with dinner I may show you to your rooms. I am sure you are tired after your long journey." Giving me room to breath I did so, not yet risking a look at my father. 

The count told us about the castle and it was magnificent in its own way, a marvel of architecture as haunting as it was ingenious. I could not imagine a more perfect home suited for the creature who resided here and wondered if one had not influenced the other in some way after so long wandering the halls. 

" _Reserata Carcerum_ , The prison without Locks." 

I noticed despite the stairs he never once tired despite his slow step, adding to my suspicion he was not as feeble as he portrayed. My father stayed at my shoulder until we reached the place that was to be my room. 

It was as ornate as one might imagine a place like this to be, the furniture carved and ancient but beautifully preserved as if I'd stepped back in time. The room had a stale air to it, likely it had been long since any living creature had graced it and I imagined that to be true.

"I hope you will be comfortable. There is a bathroom beyond here," and he hobbled in to brush back a thick velvet curtain to show a secondary room which held a large ornate washing tub and a vanity strangely without a mirror but filled with small vials some apparently encrusted with jewels. I examined these things with some interest, drawn like a magpie to the mysterious gleam. "A bath can be drawn for your pleasure tomorrow evening before the servants leave."

"Thank you, I would very much appreciate that. No mirror?" He made a face.

"I do not keep mirrors, baubles of vanity, _pah_! You are welcome to use what you find, the oils, lotions and all those delicate things that may please you." I suppose if I was so old I too might not desire such ' baubles' of vanity to remind me but it was another peculiarity added to a mountain and I felt very weary. I was cheered somewhat however by the promise of a bath and curious about the exotic coloured bottles. 

I wondered if perhaps he would mind if I brought one as a gift to Lucy who would gush over being given a favour of an exotic eastern Count .

"Good night then, good night papa. Sleep well." I said bidding them both good evening and gave father a peck upon the cheek. He seemed nervous and displeased but smiled weakly and kissed the tips of my fingers before departing.

I settled then and while I still had the energy I decided to continue my Journal with all the details of this long exhaustive day. The bed at least looks comfortable but my mind stretches at what a month in this place will be like. For now, I hope for a deep unobtrusive sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy the second chapter and it has whetted interest for more.  
> Edited 11/05/2020


	3. April 6th 1897

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sophie recounts her strange night terror.

_**Sophie Harker's Journal** _

_**April 6th 1897** _

* * *

Though coming quickly, my sleep was not an uninterrupted slumber. I had the strangest dream which left me shaken with terror long after it passed. I will describe it now in the best details I can remember although they are fading rapidly **.**

I know first that I slept deeply for there was a sense of emerging from nourishing slumber. Sleep is like that is it not? The best sleep is known only as you emerge from it for whilst within it you are truly without memory or sense.

As I emerged from that deep nourishing darkness I became aware of a weight bearing down above me. At first this was a pleasant feeling like a heavy blanket, comforting. There... was a smell , akin to that wet scent of leaves that have long lain beneath the trees, the damp scent of earthly decay. 

That was the first perturbation that all was not right and as this uneasiness began the weight above me seemed to grow, accompanied by the sudden sense of constraint. I tried to shift, to roll over but found myself unable to. My heart lurched and I opened my eyes wide to see a face above me. I did not so much as see the face so much as the eyes, like those in the woods gleaming through darkness. 

I think I screamed, I felt the strain of my throat working, but before the sound of my shriek could pierce my ears I found my mouth too was muted by a weight. Hair tickled my lips coarse and stringy against my teeth as a harsh voice guttered in the darkness.

'Is this a private enough setting for uninvited intimacies? ' That voice, that curling rasping English, that strong hand. My heart galloped so strongly I felt dizzy.

The sheets seemed to be moving back and I felt a tug about my neck met as well by that damp fetid breath of mouldering earth. I recognize now that tug about my neck must have been the chain of Marianne's cross which I'd not taken off before bed. But of course it was a dream so what I mean is that I dreamt it was Marianne's cross. 

There was a strange noise, as a dog might make being savagely kicked. 

That's when I woke, thrashing so violently I threw myself off the bed and stunned by the abruptness of gravity, blinked to find myself tangled, sweating and heart hammering and quite alone though my distress did not pass quick enough to believe this immediately. 

The sleep that remained to me until morning was- fitful, when I came awake the sun was well into the sky. 

It was of course just a dream. A terrible dream, unlike any I've ever had. Likely inspired by a mixture of the wine and our 'enigmatic host'. I've found a tray of food outside the door. Some fruits and breads and water which has done much to improve my constitution. I must have swallowed my hair in my distress this morning because most repulsively there was one stuck between my teeth. It was grey, and now I find I am quite upset not to have a mirror to see if I am going grey by the sudden fright... That is the most likely reasoning is it not? I plan on going next to find father, I hope he has fared better than I have. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 11/07/2020


	4. April 6th 1987- Continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sophie and Mr. Harker experience their first day within the 'Reserata Carcerum', and Jonathan reveals that they aren't quite alone within the castle.

**_Sophie Harker's Journal_ **

**_April 6th 1897_ **

**_-continued-_ **

* * *

I wish I could say that the day had improved upon the morning. I realized as I left my rooms to find my father, that I had made the mistake of assuming his rooms were close to my own. Though no door was locked to me ( _Reserata Carcerum indeed_ ), I had gone quite a way when I realized that I was becoming hopelessly lost. Though I turned around I found I could not identify my own room even by memory, and had to open door by door. With each dusty room opened growing more frustrated, until finally I found myself at the place at which I'd started what felt like hours later. I found a blue silk ribbon, reserved normally for my hair and tied it as a marker and resolved to begin again.

It was by pure chance which I hold to coming to find my father in those twisting old halls. So immense was my emotion upon finding him that I practically leapt into his arms, my veracity startling him I think, before he cried out in recognition.

"Sophie!" 

"Is there anyone else? I've been searching these awful halls for hours !" I was so relieved I might have cried but I reserved myself, feeling foolish. "I thought I'd be lost forever here!"

His gaze did not linger upon me long, and I realized as I stepped back he seemed almost unkempt, his eyes darting about and festooned with dark circles below declaring his night to be as pleasant as my own. 

"Have you seen, or heard anyone else?" He asked me.

"Not even our dreadful host." I admitted.

"Sophie-" His voice rose by reflex, but he cut himself off with a bitter laugh "No you're right he is quite, dreadful isn't he?" 

"I'll have to ask him what he's done to my Papa! I don't think I've ever heard you speak Ill of anybody." I said, elevating my sentiments with a bit of teasing masking my genuine worry which pricked my heart like a small pin. He seemed to really look at me then, as if his thoughts were coming back to him. 

"It's good to see you, do you know the- uh direction of our rooms?" 

"I was hoping you would." 

Together having both spent so long wandering I think were beginning to gain a semblance of instinct in this strange place. We made it to my quarters first which I'd smartly marked, and by that he was able to show me his room for which I'd made quite sure to mark in my memory, and we tied upon his door a similar marker in which to aid us, my red silk ribbon as it were.

Inside the room his food tray sat half untouched and the wretched little flies seemed to be enjoying themselves quite heartily. I waved them away, which was a mistake as the flies buzzed angrily and bumped fat and glutted little bodies into my hand and towards my face. 

" Ugh!" I stepped away repulsed towards the bed. "I see you were also brought breakfast, I can't help but wonder where the servants are, I'm inclined to feel that we're the only creatures in this place beyond the rats and flies."

"There is... someone else I'm afraid." My father said and strode towards the thick curtain adorning his window. It was dusk outside I marked, but that was the least surprising thing.

 _'Su pleh'_ \- It took me a small tilt of my head to understand. 

"Help us." I repeated, disturbed, for more even more peculiar it was written upside down and upon touching the pane it was clearly written from the **outside**. I examined this and upon opening the window I confirmed the impossibility for there were no ledges without. "How is this-?" Father, quite excitable in his agitation, cut me off before I could finish the question. I understood now the irregular state of distress I'd found him in the halls had not been merely from the maze, but this puzzling affair.

"I don't know, only that I fear there may be some prisoners trapped within the castle and that perhaps we might seek to help them in some way." My father who is marked by his kindness still surprised me by this. 

"Father, not to be unkind but what of us ? Is his insistence of our stay not... unnerving to you?" I would not have expressed this thought had this new uncanny occurrence had arisen to disturb the unsettled feeling I bore since we'd arrived.

"He is... unpleasant to be sure, but we are here on business, cleared by the firm."

"Apparently cleared," I corrected. "Should we not clarify that perhaps?" This was all beginning to smell of the Thames.

"Well, it's a rather difficult inquiry to make without giving offence..." This was all too typical, he tapped his long fingers against the curtain and I considered this for a moment

"We can write to make our own inquiries and ask to have it delivered. I'm sure you'll want to write to Miss Murray, and I to Lucy." and my father agreed that this was a fine idea. 

My father was able to lead us downstairs to compose these letters upon the table we had supped the previous night. We settled ourselves but it was all too soon that father began to nod off, and by the heat of the fire I too found myself quite sleepy after a day of exertions. After so many weeks in a carriage my legs cramped in the way of pleasant exercise. 

Sleepy, I finished my letter and gazed at my father's vulnerable expression. Unwrapping my shawl I rose to make him a pillow to rest upon and had only just done so when the sound of a cork popping free of its bottle announced the arrival of our host. It was so abrupt that my heart leapt into my throat and my father stirred groggily. His robes sounded swift easy strides over the stone floor, no longer a slow limping gait but strong and sure. 

He'd come upon us so quickly that before I could even look up he was extending to place the bottle on the table before us and I jerked to see him in alarm and jumped at the sight of him.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you." The voice was remarkably changed, no longer rasping like dried parchment or curling with such heavy foreign emphasis, it was almost perfect. But it was his face which shocked me truly, for the voice betrayed only this transformation. 

He regarded me with dark eyes, smiling with those sharp teeth through his wrinkles; yet they were not those graven marble carvings of some dizzy aged creature but the softer lines of a man who could have been at least a decade younger than last we parted.

I realized I was staring stunned as his gaze lingered, almost becoming arch at my prolonged open-mouthed gawping.

"Y-your hair." I believe I stammered quite stupid sounding, though his hair was different. Short and silvery grey. He refreshed his smile, light of the fire dancing in his eyes.

"I had it cut, an attempt to keep up with the style." There was still some roundness to the English marking it imperfectly but it was strides better. His silver brows rose towards his hairline, "Does it suit me?" I hadn't the chance to respond when father began to stir in earnest.

"-Your English... it's almost perfect." Father marked, raising himself from the table off the makeshift pillow I'd been attempting to arrange. The Count placed two glasses, the stems between his fingers, his smoother less decrepit fingers, and placed them upon the table.

"Please relax, you both seem tired. I hope your sleep was not disturbed?" He said and a pin shot through my breast. For I swore I marked a sheen in his eyes, like the predatory refraction of those penetrating orbs which bore down me in the dark, and I was taken back to that moment of terror , the weight bearing down on me, helplessly oppressed, the feeling of his hand upon my mouth that greedy pressing need as the weight shifted across my chest...

My hand at my breast felt the weight of the cross still there and his eyes travelled to it, though it was buried beneath my hand, a small sneer of disdain curling his lip. 

But this was in a moment so small and quick that it was hard for me to believe it had sincerely happened for the next he was pouring wine, two strong lugs for each glass, and I was feeling quite stupid.

"One never rests easy away from home." I admitted my bowels feeling watery, feeling foolish by what was only a trick of the fire playing on his eyes. Likely the lighting here was so bad, and we were so exhausted from our trip the previous night, and me so drunk I'd imagined his look and demeanour totally. For what else could it have been? "You will not join us on any account?" I asked, eager for the wine and noticed how famished I was by the day's exertions. 

"No, you'll be hungry I'm certain?" 

"I'm quite a bit tired actually." My father laughed, seeming to forget our purpose in writing the letters. I do not believe he finished his by the look of the page. "But I can stay while you eat my dear." He looked very tired indeed, his eyes drooping.

"No, it's quite alright papa." I said, thinking of forgoing dinner myself and of helping him to bed.

"If you help him to bed I will have the servants set a place for you. Though I've already eaten I would be very pleased by your company." I considered excusing myself, but I was hungry and while father slept I could bring up sending off the letters, mine having been finished and needing only the wax seal, they were still upon the table where I had left them.

"I suppose I will endeavour not to get lost." I laughed but was not really joking and considered that getting lost may be a forgivable excuse for not attending dinner. He did not offer to guide us, only stepped aside as I assisted my father in rising. 

I was still considering several excuses in which to employ not having to attend the meal below, but I knew my fate was sealed. I reminded myself however that I did have the excellent wine to look forward to, and this was my only consolation as I helped father into his bed and removed his shoes. 

"Sophie."

"Yes papa?" 

"Be careful." Before I could ask of what, he was sound asleep and drooling. I kissed him gingerly and felt all those things which I endeavoured to keep from my countenance before him. Fear, love, and worry burdened the heart beneath my breast and again I found some solace in Marianne's cross and took a deep breath, drumming my fingers above it before setting back down.

Having gotten some practice this day I really couldn't have honestly used getting lost as an excuse. How heavy the burden of virtue can be.

As promised, the table set for one, the Count seated at the head of the table on the opposing end of where I would take the meal. My letters were still upon the table, and I was overcome with the sudden fear that while I'd been occupied he had read them. But that too was likely just my own fear, brought on by nerves. There was nothing specifically altered about the way they sat. 

"Would you like those sent?" He asked, seeing me look upon them. 

"Y-yes, they only need a seal. I know father wanted to write to his Fiancé miss Murray, but I fear he dozed before he could finish it."

"He works a little too hard I think." He had such an easy expression it was difficult to base my feelings in anything of suspicion and strove to bury them. 

"You won't mind then, perhaps tomorrow?"

"I am at your disposal." I came to settle before the meal, which as the last was a sumptuous display by its scent, a bloody veal steak crusted with herbs and butter and hard crusted breads with soft thick insides. 

"It looks excellent, I hope you'll give my regards to your cook, and the hunter." He smiled at that, the wrinkles in his face deepening. How different he looked I noted again and had to pull my eyes away lest I stare. 

"Something wrong?" 

"No, not at all, you seem only. You seem quite different from our first meeting, it seems the company has brought you good health."

"Yes, fresh blood does wonders."

Be careful where you bleed . My pricked finger throbbed though the wound was sealed and I'd forgotten it. But this too was too strange and quite a silly thought, isn't it?

"Tell me, are you homesick?" Suddenly and I knew that this night would be one of some conversation. I suppose had he been silent I might to have found that unbearable.

"A little." I admitted, "More for the companionship I left behind."

"Miss Westenra?" A shock went through me. For how would he have known about Lucy without having read my letter? I slipped in my cutting of the meat upon my plate and the cutlery abruptly screamed against the fine china. "Your father mentioned her, you share Miss Murray as your governess." I felt doubly stupid then and poked up at my foolish conclusion. 

To calm my nerves I took a deep drink of my wine which was very fine and took a heady swallow before giving the Count an affirmative gesture. "Am I prying too much?" He asked, and there was that look to his eyes in which I'd taken the time to describe to Lucy in my letter. An arch look, as one who is evidently self pleased by something which you have not a wit about. 

"No, not at all. I am only sure you are making conversation to engage me," I said, letting him off the hook for that burden if he so chose.

"Not at all, I rarely do anything Miss Harker, which does not please me. You can mark that as a deficit of aristocracy... It has been long since I have kept such pleasant and lovely company, I look forward to more of such things in London." I have never known how to respond to flattery, for I have always seen it as something to be given with purpose, though that may seem callous, this too I learned from Lucy who was adept in particular with this skill. 

' A good compliment cannot be forgone in gaining a man's attention Sophie, even if they are made up. But it is best to notice something obscure, something they already believe about themselves and have confirmed hearing it from you . The puppies adore that .' 

All men were 'puppies' to Lucy, though I have paraphrased her thinking it is in its essence how she might say it. And sitting there, amongst his flattering I wondered what his intentions were to be employing them and felt a guarded caution.

"I'm certain you will be well-received. As I mentioned, to be new and so cultured will permit you to enter any circle you desire with ease. I am likely to gain popularity myself I should think, something which will aid the finding of a profession when I return." I was chiming like a church bell now. Where was more wine when one needed it?

"Oh?"

"Most certainly, they will all want to know where this mysterious new Count came from and knowing I was the first to keep your company will be inundated with the favour of ladies who will perhaps take me on as a maid or a governess."

There I was being arch, it was a terrible habit but I'd emptied a glass of wine and realized it as I reached to find it empty. The Count stood and with the sound of his robes sweeping he took up the bottle to refill my glass with three healthy glugs before turning the bottle with a twist and placing it (a little lighter now) back upon the table. 

"And what will you tell them about this mysterious Count?" He took up the glass and handed it to me. Taking it with the level care of not touching him as I did I enjoyed another drink and was greatly warmed by it. 

Very quickly my fears seemed distant in that heat everything was softer and far more comfortable, even his presence.

"What would you have me say?" I asked, and wondered if it was not Lucy herself here rather than Sophie Harker.

The Count paused and instead of answering asked a question of his own.

"Would you like to retire to the sitting room Miss Harker to finish your wine? I find it is better for such conversations."

"I would not object." I was surprised myself to find that to be true. 

"Then allow me." He said and offered his hand. It was much smoother and warmer than the last time I touched it I couldn't help but notice. Had I imagined the hair upon his palm?

He took the bottle and I, the glass, and he brought me through a hall marked by a low stone arch which led (at some juncture) to a room that had a dying fire which he, upon setting the bottle moved to tend. It smelled of dust here but several areas were obviously well-used. A desk with a lid was closed, many bookshelves lined the walls and it was filled with dark volumes so that I found myself wandering over to look at them. Having finished my own reading materials I was pleased, but of course they were all in languages unknown to me I realized upon my approach.

"I compose my letters here." He told me as I fingered the old leather volumes which were thick with dust.

"This is a beautiful collection." Russian it seemed, I could read French, but not Russian.

"This? Is nothing. My library is extensive."

"Library?" My voice rose hopefully at that.

"You enjoy reading?"

"More than anything, I've read through what I've brought with me several times I'm afraid." He offered me to sit in the grand old 17th century three seat canape which was now before a pleasant crackling fire. The furniture was old but exquisitely crafted of hardwood and plush velvet.

"I would be pleased then to show you." He took a place beside me leaning back.

"Tomorrow?" I said, hopeful.

"I have some engagements in the day, but in the evening, I am certain you will find something to please your tastes..." and his eyes lingered on me in such a way I found almost too intimate reminding me I was alone with a gentleman without an escort. I took another drink for support.

"What do you enjoy most about your homeland?" He asked.

"The library is quite good there." I said, my mind still on books, and he seemed to find this either humorous or charming.

"A woman who enjoys books to the entertainment of culture?"

"It's not so uncommon, of course plays are wonderful. But there is something best about removing yourself from the sea of people and stranding yourself apart from it in a quiet place or in a book. It rains quite often there you should know, and it can be quite pleasing so long as you have a book to read and a place to keep from getting wet."

"It does not get lonely on these 'islands of solitude' ?"

"That's the pleasure isn't it in a place like London? There you're never far from people so the trick is to find places to hide away when you so desire to. It will be a change of pace for you Count I assure you. Soon you may miss this place and the solitude."

"Perhaps. You speak very freely," I was poked up by this remark, but he continued. "No, do not mark this as a complaint. I find it very refreshing." I swirled my wine glass wondering if I should finish it or leave off. Perhaps I had drank too much.

"Miss Murray would claim I've spent too much time with, as you said, aristocrats who are marked by their 'free' ways. It's how I ended up here oddly enough."

"You are not fond of this Miss Murray, whom your father is so besotted?"

"I suppose not. She's a good woman, I'm sure she will make my father very happy."

"But not you." He said and gave one of those funny half snarling laughs. "Your mother is dead?" and he said that so blankly I was a little taken aback.

"Yes, since my birth." I could hardly take offence however, for this event remained only as a marker in my life and was a mere fact to observe. The Count pondered the fire.

"I lost a wife in such a manner, nature is unforgiving ." This interested me to hear that he was married. 

"Did you have many wives?"

"Two. A life ago you could say. There have been brides since but they are trifles. I've found many women to be of poor constitution. Nothing lives long in this place." He said and this was a very strange thing to say but still drinking I laughed at this frankness, and he joined in with that somewhat brutal guffaw. 

"My, my, Count, such ill luck. It's more prone to see women outliving men in my country, than men outliving women. Perhaps you will have more luck with British fare." 

He moved to pour me more wine, and here I digressed.

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage sir. I'm getting a little too warm." I was half-rats at this point. Lucy loved saying that half-rats , there was something crass about it. Lucy was always fitting in being crass where she could.

"I might be tempted for a drink seeing you so warm ."

"I'd encourage it." I said absently, still thinking of Lucy, my hair had begun to stick uncomfortably to my neck. It being long and thick, I wished I had brought a ribbon down in which to tie it back, but made do by pulling it from my skin and to my shoulder exposing it to the cooler air and fanning myself as I ran my finger beneath the chain of the necklace which was sitting heavy on my breast the metal warm. 

He moved closer, I thought at first to reach for the bottle. I am uncertain what to think now, for then I sensed he moved towards my neck. This motion caught at the corner of my eye, by instinct alarming me, and by a motion, my finger tangled upon the necklace and came free. He flinched back bodily as if I'd slapped him, or perhaps my movement shocked him.

"Excuse me perhaps I should go to bed." I said hurriedly, still uncertain about what had occurred only noticing that the Count's demeanour had changed abruptly his face turned away from me. I might have heard something, I would have sworn then it had been a growl but it must have only been the crackling flames I think in hindsight.

"If you wish." He said, but lacked that joviality we had only moments ago shared and rose.

The journey to my rooms in which he accompanied me was cold and silent, and we bade each other good evening at the door.

"Until tomorrow,"

"The library?" His thoughts if his distracted gaze was any indication were elsewhere. They had not met mine I think since the event upon the canape.

"Yes of course." Then he paused and said something very odd, or at least it seemed out of place, but perhaps I am overthinking it. "You might be careful not to sleep with such a chain, I have heard of such trinkets choking their wearers in the night." It was an ominous comment and I reached up to take the necklace half having forgotten it.

"I will be sure to take precautions... good evening."

"Good evening." He said with that familiar lip curled and I shut the door all too relieved. 

I finished my evening at my desk recording my account of the day here after having built my fire. I am tired but... I can't help but feel apprehensive about sleep despite the warmth wine has given me. I hope for a dreamless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have time to comment I would greatly appreciate it, maybe let me know what you think about Sophie and the Count so far.  
> Thanks so much for reading :)  
> Edited 11/07/2020


	5. April 7th 1897

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie finds Mr. Harker increasingly unwell, insisting he remain in bed she takes the liberty to explore the grounds. Only more questions arise, where are the servants? who wrote the mysterious request? Further investigation leads her back to the sitting room to discover and overlooked source of distraction the Count joins her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As certain wines compliment food, I suggest playing Moonlight Sonata at the integral scene of the chapter followed by the duet by the scotts brothers Beethoven 5th Symphony which will deepen the atmosphere.

**_Sophie Harker's Journal_ **

**_April 7th 1897_**

* * *

I was not visited by that first spirit which haunted my night last and slept as deep as the dead. 

Refreshed by this deep slumber I was pleased to discover that fresh water had been brought to the bathtub after all. I suspect the previous day while father and I had been so preoccupied and only having noticed now. It was cold but clean and it left me feeling crisp and fresh. Having taken the time to wash my hair and anointed myself with the oil of one of the gem encrusted bottles upon the vanity. 

It has been far too long in which my scalp felt so clean and my body so fresh! Luxuriating in my vanity I brushed my hair out a hundred strokes and braided, lacing one of my blue ribbons through it as best as I might without a mirror. 

Half the morning was gone and upon realizing this felt a little guilty and foolish. For all I knew father was waiting for me- or worse, wandering the castle in search of the one who left the message. Upon that I find it difficult to wrap my mind around any plausible explanation beyond some strange hoax . 

Again I found breakfast left upon a tray, already some flies were helping themselves to the fruit, I waved the little beasts away as I took it up. Intent upon seeing if father should like to break fast together in his room.

Upon reaching, it (that way which I only got turned around twice or so) I discovered the ribbon which we'd tied as a marker laying upon the stone, untied. I stopped, having to set the tray down beside its match to pick up the tie and refasten it. Strange that it had fallen off, I thought, but hungry, and eager to see father I knocked upon his door.

"Papa? Are you awake?" Surely he was, for the sun was high in the sky, Father had always risen early. 

As I waited long past where there should have been an answer I considered that he may simply be out wandering the castle looking for the 'other' he was so certain needed his help. But if that was the case then he'd left without eating breakfast. 

His tray was still beside the door, a mirror to my own. After waiting another moment or two I tried the handle and pushed within for a peek.

The curtains were drawn shut, leaving the room in velvety darkness except a single slice of light cutting across the bed in a bright streak. Beneath the covers was an unmistakable lump. Setting my tray aside upon one of the tables, I regarded the shape. Could he still be sleeping?

"Papa?" I asked and a groan received me, as if he was suffering from the bottle aches. Attending him I patted along the lump beneath the covers until I felt clammy skin.

"Papa!" The flesh was sickly cool, suddenly the worst came to my mind. Was he very ill? Not seeing well in the dark I opened the curtains, flooding the room with light. 

"Sophie? What's this the raucous?" Came a grumble from the lump. He certainly sounded sick, voice hoarse and thick with groggy sleep. His face seemed altogether too pale as he squinted peeking up from his mousy brown hair, the dark circles beneath his eyes had sunken. 

"Papa you look awful." Was his face thinner?

"Ugh I feel awful. My god what time is it?"

"It must be halfway past morning."

"Halfway-? I feel like I haven't slept a wink." I came to perch on his bedside taking in his pasty skin and appearance. "Not up to dick at all I'd say." He was trying to get up, the foolish old man and firmly I pressed him back into the pillows. He gave way to the pressure weakly. I clucked my tongue and brought my hand to his head. Cool, altogether too cool which was strange, for generally when one is ill they get altogether too hot don't they?

"You should stay in bed, Let me bring you some hot tea." His eyes drifted to the window where the marks were still scoured and I saw his thoughts clearly and I admit to feeling a surge of frustration. What nonsense this all was, likely some prank by the ghostly servants. Likely it had been carved ages ago by someone else in this terrible place. Instead of saying any of this, knowing my father would put up a fuss about it I said instead.

"Let me look, you'll be of no use to anyone ill like this. Please papa, rest."

"What about you? It could be dangerous Sophie. This place... I don't like you being in this place. Perhaps you should consider going to town and waiting for me to conclude with the Count." He took my hand in his, it was as clammy as his brow, but I kissed the back of it anyways.

"If anyone should go back to town it ought to be you to see a doctor, perhaps we should." For the more I looked at father the more ghastly his appearance seemed. His shirt was undone and something pale, almost silvery upon his skin caught my eye distracting me. "What's that?" I asked and gently reached to peel aside the shirt to get a better look.

"What's what?" Father asked, and tearing his hand from mine clasped about his neck feelingly. "If the Count hadn't broken my bloody mirror -" He grumbled. "What does it look like?" He twisted his neck for me to see better in the light of the day. It was like an old scar, but not the usual pink kind, this was pale and twisted. I brought my hand to feel it and found it was rather soft. 

"It looks... almost like an old scar, a twisted sort of bite wound that's healed." 

"Bite wound?" He said and had a distant queasy look of horror that for a moment twisted his face before mysteriously fading leaving him looking only blinking and groggy looking. "Like, a rats perhaps?" He asked, sounding more bewildered than ever. I shrugged uncertainly and smoothed his shirt with my hand. Considering how best to settle us.

"Let us have a little breakfast, I'll reset your fire and let you sleep some." I decided.

"That sounds wonderful darling."

He ate only a little and I tried my best not to let my fear show at this seeming enfeeblement, but my fears eased again seeing him drink well and eat a little which brought his colour back before he slipped almost sweetly into slumber. All this before I'd even finished my meal. As promised I set his fire to keep the room warm and brought the trays out. To keep the rats from disturbing him, wondering about that strange mark. Even if it was rats, could something have healed so rapidly or made that shape? Though I didn't really think the beasts could have had anything to do with the mysterious mark I thought it was best not to tempt the creatures. 

There I was by myself again and at a loss of what to do. Despite what I'd told father I had no interest in hunting ghosts, It was all very **skilamalink** to me. However, there were so many strange things I find it difficult to put anything together which makes any sense. So I left those thoughts too, pushing them to the back of my mind and allowing them to ferment there in the dark, hoping that eventually they might produce something useful should I not pay too much attention to it. 

I was clean, and had read my books from front to cover more times than I preferred and quite frankly I was somewhat sick of this stuffy dark place. It was then my choice to go outside. Obtaining my jacket from my room to ward off the cool spring air that is exactly what I did.

It was a day of paragon spring, cloudless with sweet cool air and a bright sun. The courtyard was silent and without evident life or activity. Where, I wondered again, were the servants? I have never known such a mysterious group of people, and this silence only deepened the nagging feeling that perhaps there weren't any and more difficult to understand why not, and why lie if so? Already those thoughts were beginning to ferment, if only it was something less repellent I might have dared humour those thoughts. But it was all too queer, and entirely too impossible still.

The black stallions which pulled the Counts' carriage galloped upon the fields which opened up below the castle's inner gates, and I was drawn by this and reminded that there was at least one servant: the driver. I began making my way down to see if I could find him. Though I did not remember him being a pleasant man I think I was hoping to put out that nagging feeling once and for all even if that meant an unpleasant encounter.

I came to see the stables were empty beyond hay being left out. It was well maintained but here too was the feeling of being absolutely alone. The barn was open to allow the horses in and out, their tack hanging well-kept on the wall. 

"Hello? Is there anybody here?" I called out, "Driver? Are you here?" I tried again but to no avail. A ladder rose to a hayloft and I climbed it if only to see better the space.

Only empty stalls and dusty hay which gave me a fit of sneezes. I did however spot a door below, half hidden by some equipment. Perhaps the drivers quarters?

Returning to the ground I found myself there knocking and again calling out.

"Hello, anybody home?" Without an answer, something I was growing accustomed to, I opened the door a little more freely than I might if I was expecting to greet someone.

It was someone's quarters, but by the state of it, it had been many years ago in which it was inhabited. Thick dust motes danced in the air through the sunlight which peaked boarded window slats inside. 

Empty. Lifeless.

> _ 'None live long here .'  _

I entertained myself for a while with a brisk walk and upon finding a sack full of half bruised apples attempted to lure the black brutes in the field and managed only a wary look and a flickering of the tail and ears. Such a welcome I thought and left the apples there and at a distance saw them approach and accept the offers which brought a little satisfaction. I explored a little enjoying the air and the exercise before my guilt and worry of my father bade me return inside. 

To my pleasure he was seated in the hall were we supped, it was well past noon by the light I had just left, and I was pleased to see he looked much improved.

"Papa! How are you feeling?" Looking up from his work he smiled.

"Sleep did me some good," He admitted then with a pinch of concern, "Where have you been? I was almost worried." I came by quickly to press a kiss to his forehead, noting its warmth now in comparison to my wind cooled freshness. Another pleasing sign.

"I've been exploring the grounds." I began, taking a seat beside him, removing my shawl which I felt now was too warm especially in companion to the fire.

"Did you see any sign of anybody?" There was a vigour to him asking this. And my fears having been somewhat assuage returned as I noted the fervour to this question, bordered I feared on obsession .

"No, not even a sign of the driver." And I went on into detail about the eerie silence of it all, and the empty living quarters. Father listened with that sort of avid agitation drumming his fingers upon his papers. 

"I saw her today." He pronounced, like a belch he'd been unable to contain, his demeanour fixated me so much that my mind didn't quite place what he'd said at first.

"Saw... saw who?"

"The girl, the one from the window! I know for certain now I'm not mad. I know I saw her Sophie." He declared with such urgency I couldn't help but to fear he was going mad. 

"Did you sleep at all Papa? Or were you up and wandering as soon as the door closed."

"I couldn't sleep!" He said, defensively. "I tried Sophie, but there is someone here and they've asked for our help. Or my help, I know you don't feel so inclined as I do, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let this lay." I rested my chin upon my palm and drummed my fingers and considered all these peculiarities again.

Ghostly messages, a host whose appearance changed, Invisible servants... As I tapped I tried to see things from such an angle that they made sense. So many things felt wrong or off, and I was left with the distinct feeling as one might, skipping over pages in a book.

"Perhaps the servants are more like slaves? It is a very old family... maybe he keeps them in cages in the basement and only allows them out to work!" I announced, feeling a little ridiculous but trying to find some reason to it, but then as I said it, something even more peculiar became apparent to me yet made even less sense.

"Help us." I repeated.

"What? You have that look."

"It's just... it seems odd that a Romanian slave would know English." My father blinked. 

"Yes... yes that is very odd isn't it? That never occurred to me." We pondered that in silence, feeling I think even more entrenched and lost than before. I missed the cool clear air outside. When the quiet had gone on long enough, and this pondering went again stale I brought up a matter of more immediate consideration.

"Are you finished with your letters? The Count agreed to have them delivered; he has mine." I told him and coming back from his place of thought he nodded.

"Yes, here." He said and rifling through his pages he withdrew three envelopes sealed with wax.

"How was it last night?" He asked as he handed them to me. 

"It was almost pleasant." Father made a face and I laughed. 

"I said almost. Then I fear I drank a little too much wine and-"

"Sophie-"

"Nothing happened papa! I mean there was a strange moment where I feared-"

"Did he-?" I couldn't bear to allow him to finish that thought , let alone uttering the sentence.

"No!" I was feeling more and more stupid and tongue-tied as I spoke realizing it would have been better to say nothing for I had only meant to express that which had provoked my anxiety the previous night and hoped by speaking about it, it might be assuaged.  **O** ne might speak of a nightmare only to realize it was quite silly in the light of day.  **H** ere it was to be the opposite, the worst was now feared and now my father was looking fixedly disturbed and even more agitated than before. Frustrated I continued to try to convince him (and myself in the process) that it was all very silly.

"It was nothing, I was only overly drunk, and he was very gentlemanly and brought me to my rooms."

"I want you to be more guarded Sophie." He said, and he put his hand on mine. It felt dried and I noticed a raw red line about his nails.

"And I want you to stop chasing ghosts and instead pursue a good sleep!" I said just as sternly squeezing his hand between mine, feeling anxious and affectionate. I remembered one other item of interest to share just then, "The Count promised to show me his library tonight, I might finally retire Mr. Wells." I told him but leaned in to take a closer look at his hand. He freed it fumbling with his writing quill but it was done in such an awkward unnatural manner it was obvious he didn't want me preening over him. 

"That should be excellent." He said nervously and dabbed his quill several times without bringing it to page.

"Yes," I said, "I suspect so." and struggled against the surge of incomprehensible anxiety which weighed heavier than even the cross at my breast.

There was some more time spent in the gloom and dark of the castle following whispers and turning back just as I feared to be lost within the shadows which stretched. It had a way of never taking you quite where you expected to go, a left turn would abruptly descend several levels, and several rights would find you in a completely new wing. 

I considered the Greek myths and wondered if perhaps I should find myself a great ball of twine. Though this thought amused me I knew I'd more than likely tie myself into knots and remain still hopelessly confused. This walking however soothed my agitation and I enjoyed my preoccupation with the physical. It was coincidental then that I ended up within the sitting room in which the Count had introduced me to the night previous.

This time, not distracted by a merry fire, wine, or book. I remarked upon a grand old Instrument in the corner for which brought me delight to see. It was as dusty as the books and looking very forgotten and forlorn indeed in the darkest little corner. I lifted the lid off it and brushed the bench free of dust attempting to keep my dress as clean as I could while still clearing it. 

Ivory keys gleamed which I skimmed, my fingers almost aching with the kind of greeting of old friends both bitter and sweet from the passing of time. There were no notes here in sight, so I closed my eyes and rummaged through memory. 

Nothing came first yet my fingers found the keys, it is after all an expression of the spirit rather than of mind and in that place my fingers began moving.

It was with ominous exaltation that the notes began filling the air. My fingers were as slow as my memories returned which brought a deepening to the notes of that foreboding beginning tune of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

My fears played within those dark tones, exhausting my spirit of them in a way that I'd attempted to do with my legs throughout the day without respite. Soon there was only the feeling of the keys the several small rises and swells and that sweet lull before the 'peak', after which the pitch which grew in agitation; my heart too rising with it as the song reached its summit. 

The notes fell with the heavy steps of footfalls rushing downstairs two at a time without a censure to speed. My fingers tumbled down, my heart following.

There was a joy, a free fall of spirit captured in cacophony which would again become symmetry. Despite the elation of this rise, it would subside into the lull again and it was harder still to know which part was better loved, for to repeat one endlessly would be boring. 

I never reached the lull, for in the next moment the air seemed to displace the music. Oh! it is difficult to describe but the effect was the immediate disruption of the harmony between my mind and body, as one so focused upon some beautiful piece of art or anything else might be suddenly snapped out of focus by a shadow crossing the corner of their eye.

The sense of his presence was like a great stone parting the river in which the music flowed, my fingers stumbled as my heart did, like those feet slipped a stair. I fell into the lurch of it, fingers stumbling off-key as I broke with a gasp of fright and jerked where I sensed that terrible weight, certain to see him right behind me, close enough to touch my neck or stroke my hair. 

The silence was as painful as the abrupt crashing of cymbals, but it was not long because my heart was surging and driving itself into my throat.

"Forgive my interruption." I did not believe him for a moment. Or at least I did not at that moment and I felt a swell of hatred and bitterness so strong it must have shown in my face because he actually looked away. Not so near behind me but from where he leaned against the canape's arm. "You play quite well." I swallowed struggling a little to gain control of the frenzied gallop within my breast and after that first strong surge of rage I felt somewhat embarrassed. I must have seemed quite rude, and following his que of shyness I retrained my gaze to my hands laughing awkwardly.

"I'm sorry, I was quite lost to it." I tried to think of some pleasantry and asked. "Do you play?"

"May I?" To my surprise he came to sit with me upon the bench. It was a closeness bordering on indecent as his thigh bordered mine and my heart rose again a little, still sensitive perhaps to my alarm and I considered firstly an escape from this. 

Then he laid his fingers to the keys and the sharp notes filled the air in rapid violent exultation, the notes so formidable they were unmistakable.

_**Dun dun dun!** _

_**Dun dun dun dun!** _

Beethoven 5th symphony, a duet piece.

His eyes slid to mine from the corner of his eye, a dark invitation, which I now remark was both a challenge and perhaps... for lack of a better word: flirtation. 

The fool I was, and I blame my heart weakened by his abrupt entrance, I put my fingers to the keys. Feeling spuriously indecent as I found the notes. 

He began again his mouth twitching I swear, and I struggled to focus upon my hands. Feeling as one might edge towards a cliff side fearing to plunge should I venture too close yet unable to keep from looking.

_**Dun dun dun,** _

_**Dun dun dun dun!** _

I began with the delicate keys, my fingers flying in memory, as his hands played the more powerful strokes. Our elbows brushed, and I grew dizzy with flushed elation. There is an intoxication of spirit one might find within music and I became shamelessly inebriated by that joy and couldn't help but marvel at the mastery of my companion who stroked the keys with fluid marvellous grace. 

But I was not such a master, though my heart might rise with the joy of the music my fingers slipped from a single key, a misstep in which cascaded to my demise as one might trip at the edge of the cliff and be forsworn to doom. My fingers crossed, the off keynote chiming, like an awkward 'quack' in a beautiful piece, destroying it so utterly and sincerely, I burst into laughter.

He continued only a few more strokes at my disintegration and, now no longer playing, I observed him more fully and remarked on the breathless stillness and the powerful ease which marked his fluid movements. They were actually quite beautiful his hands, but that was strange wasn't it, because in this light, in this fluid movement they seemed gloriously young.

As I realized this, his playing closed and he turned with I think the first smile I'd ever seen upon his face which marked genuine delight, delight at that moment we shared.

"I'm afraid I can't keep up," I said, a little breathless. His hands left the keys and I realized in my fervour my hair had worked its way out of my braid as he brushed an errant lock, grazing my cheek. I became acutely conscious again that which I had forgotten moments before.

His thigh pressed by its length against my own through my dress. We were hip to hip, so tightly together that I was quite tucked to his side upon the small bench. That sense of indecency rose again but my body was marked with something new, a kind of anticipation and something I have difficulty to describe for it was the first time I'd felt such a thing so intensely.

My body cramped pleasantly at the belly and I became painfully aware of each inch of pressure of his body against my own. Though he did not move, this sense of him grew louder, rising like music rose to an absolution in a way that was both agony and strange delight. His eyes... his eyes were all I saw, like deep dark wells. I was amazed I ever found them queer for at that moment they were like the darkness found between the covers of one's own bed. Familiar, cool, promising perfect intimacy and comfort. 

I think I might have been holding my breath because I became slightly dizzy as he leaned forward. The thumb which had followed the finger to tuck my hair, now traced across my cheek sending an incredible thrill through my body at the motion. I could feel the beat of my own heart in my face which must have flushed. His mouth was so close, his eyes were still open, and I was moored to them, my soul anchored and sinking through their dark depths, my lungs beginning to tingle with need for air.

"Did I hear piano?" Just as my fingers crossed and my soul tripped, I was stumbling down the stairs all over again. I blinked and found I was alone on the bench, dizzy and disoriented like waking from a dream. "Sophie? Darling are you alright?" Papa moved to my side and I found his steadiness re-assuring while I caught my breath and swung my gaze about the room, my chest tight with trepidation as I searched for who had been my companion. 

The Count was nowhere to be seen in the room. Had I dreamed the whole affair? I didn't know. The cramps which so delighted my body faded to uncomfortable aches as if unrequited, and for the first time I nearly wept as father came to my shoulder looking concerned. 

He demanded to know what was wrong but I only told him I must have been half dreaming, and he'd startled me. I don't think he believed me, but he did not press and I allowed him to lead me to the dining hall where we found the meals were miraculously laid out.

Then there he was, his papers laid out as if he'd always been there and I wondered if I was not the one going insane and not in fact papa. His eyes lifted and I felt their dark glittering weight of their reflection, the same eyes which had slid sidelong from beside me on the bench. 

He said nothing about the piano but my belly cramped again strangely and I looked away preoccupying myself with my meal.

"Count Dracula," My father asked as he seated himself. "Are we alone in this castle?" Where my convictions now failed me it seemed my fathers had strengthened. I cut into the chicken and began to eat slowly, still trying to steady myself.

"Yes." He marked evenly, "Except for the servants of course."

"I never see any servants." He edged, and I wondered where my mild father had gotten to, his body perched rigid at the edge of his seat, his food untouched. I drank a bit of wine. 

"They aren't here at night." He said, and I still did not dare look up at him for fear my heart would begin again in its peculiar way and the cramping in my belly would redouble. 

"I don't see them in the day either, in fact Sophie claims there is not even to be a driver." There was a lance of betrayal which I felt as my father dragged me into the conversation and I drank my glass of wine empty despite how my stomach twisted about. I was determined to eat the chicken as if to prove my body was still my own after all. I felt his gaze on me, and he laughed, a mirthless almost mocking laugh which confused me all the more.

"Ah yes, the driver ." Why did he have to choose this time of all others to hedge in such a way? Should there be some insidious plot would uncovering  that the man has no servants get us anywhere? I stabbed my chicken ruthlessly gouging it.

"What I'm asking is, aside from yourself, is there anyone living in this castle?" He was obsessed with the woman I realized, she, the purpose of his questioning.

"No Jonathan, there is no one _living_ here." That drew me out of myself, for I think it was the first honest answer he'd given us and looking up I was shocked to really see him for the first time.

His hair was darker at the roots, no longer salt and pepper grey as it had been last night, his voice was crisper, without even the faintest accent to mark him as foreign. This all I saw for the first time, no longer distracted by music or my own worthless melancholy and his eyes moved back to mine with that quiet small smile and my stomach gave way again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it getting warmer in here?  
> Edited 11/07/2020


	6. April 7th 1897- Continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Count shows Sophie a little more than she expected in the Library

**_Sophie Harker's Diary_ **

**_April 7th 1897 - continued_ **

* * *

Neither of us ate much that night and I had almost forgotten about the Counts offer to show me the library until he saw fit to remind me. My father looked uncomfortable as I felt but I made a peaceable expression and I decided at least for appearance's sake it was best to take him up on the offer.

Admittedly I was still curious. As much as I may have been disturbed by the days unfolding I perhaps foolhardedly hoped that, a library, objectively a place where one might get lost in the ideas or fictions might somehow ground me in this strange reality I was finding myself increasingly moored. 

I remembered before sending my father to bed to obtain the letters in which he'd written, to have the Count send. My father left me with one pained anxious look, his shoulders sloping with exhaustion as I watched him go. His movements slow and aching, leaving an ache in me behind him.

The journey to the library was by no means short. I was very tired from a day of both physical exertion and that drain of the spirit, which had left me through the tide of music. A tide which had wrapped me in its tumultuous grasp and seemed to deposit me back upon even stranger shores, where I was ever more aware of my companions presence despite myself. I'd not even the time to consider what he'd admitted at dinner, or its implications. I was entirely too adrift for a single sensible thought to cross my mind, I was instead accosted with the insensible.

Lucy's fickle mirth erupted like a whisper in my ear, tickling:

_'You will watch out won't you my Sophie for those wicked Eastern men? Don't do anything I wouldn't do!'_ And oh how her eyes had glinted as she forced me to make that wicked promise.

This was temporarily set aside in my mind as we arrived at the promised oasis.

It was a tower, built level upon level of shelves which drifted to the ceiling. Mastered by ancient rickety ladders that made me dizzy just to imagine reaching such heights. The smell, the faint dusty warmth of vellum and parchments. I had not seen a library comparable to that of the London Library until that moment, and this one had the extraordinary feature which London's lacked: for there existed the particularly frustrating decorum of living within 'separate spheres' as they called it. In the London Library there were the rooms in which women were allowed to read and access and those allowed to men. 

"The English is here." He said referring to a particular case, and I fixating upon it, gathered my skirts to begin checking the titles. This section carried less dust than the others notably as it seemed the Count had perhaps more frequent use of it. I paused upon one book and removed it amazed.

“Is this-" I'm sure I sounded quite foolish as held the green covered gold gilded book.

"You are familiar with that?" He sounded distinctly surprised which pleased me for some silly reason.

"I'm afraid I've been accused of being a blue stocking once or twice- " I said clearing my throat and remembered a silly little poem which had been a popular amusement for a while.

> _ 'A deer with a neck that was _
> 
> _ longer by half _
> 
> _ Than the rest of his family's _
> 
> _ (try not to laugh) _
> 
> _ By stretching _
> 
> _ and stretching _
> 
> _ became a Giraffe _
> 
> _ Which nobody _
> 
> _ can deny.-' " _

I recited the little poem from memory a little absently as I opened the book in my palm, surprised to see a note upon the title page which read: 'For your continued support, Darwin'. 

"My goodness, a first edition signed by the man himself." In my hands I held the first edition of Darwin's, ' The origin of the species' . I do not know why I was surprised by this, perhaps because it was the first indication of the man's character, his interests and his mind. Today was a day of discoveries it seems, from Beethoven to Darwin.

"I became interested in his work some time ago, and we exchanged some letters." He explained as in such a way I suspected the humble tone he took to be a veiled brag, however I could not shame him for this because I was sincerely impressed. Thinking of Darwin however always brought me to Huxley, who had died two years previous.

"Do you consider yourself an Agnostic Count?" I still held the book gently, and my question seemed to throw him off guard. His brows rose, and I amended fearing this was too personal. "I only ask because whenever I think of Darwin I'm reminded of Huxley."

"Lets just say I look forward to spending more time with Atheists." That was an odd way of putting it. "Huxley sent me his essays as well, there." He said and gestured to where they rested. No doubt signed as well. Huxley was somewhat too dense for me, my knowledge more peripheral. "And you?" He asked and returning my gaze from the shelf I saw his eyes drift to where Marianne's heavy cross lay beneath my dress above my breast. His mouth took an unpleasant curl at the corners like repressed disdain. 

I weighed this question honestly, surprising myself at my own uncertainty as I absently felt that weight about my neck.

"I think I take comfort in the idea, when I'm most frightened but I suppose I must agree with Huxley, it's rather unknowable either way. Until proven in absolution, but that's not real faith is it?"

"No it's not." He said studying me. "You're not alone in that, I think." He then looked up at the shelf, mouth parting as he seemed to think. "These books have provided me much in the way of companionship over the years." It was impossible for me not to be a little moved by the sense of remote isolation that comment stirred. I was reminded for a small moment of what had been admitted at dinner. To be alone here, without even servants? 

"You can feel free to take what pleases you." Certain he didn't mean every book I carefully regarded the tome in my hand and began, out of courtesy, to put it away. 

His hand caught my wrist and my heart arrested.

"Even that one." He said with emphasis. I felt myself flushing again. That strange cramping, or kindling in my belly reigniting. His hand did not leave mine and rather, as my gaze fixed to the touch, my heart and breathing caught as his thumb stroked gently at my wrist, but did not release. 

I was again floored by that liquid feeling overtaking my lower extremity which seeped into my legs making me feel at once watery and light-headed. I did not even consider pulling away, the thought never even crossed my mind as a possibility, so overwhelmed I was by these sensations.

"M-may I ask you a strange question?" I heard myself say but I could barely feel my lips, and I was certain to begin slurring.

"That depends on if you expect an answer." He said, coyly. 

What a fool I was to suggest that it was foreign tongues in which stirred ladies as such. His accent now indistinguishable from any of the most cultured of my home was somehow more sensual than any I'd ever heard spoken. I had to redouble my focus to remember what I wanted to ask. 

"The piano, did we... did we play together?" 

I hung for a moment in suspended tension, was he moving nearer? Or was I being sucked into that merciless darkness of his eyes? I couldn't tell if I was swaying or standing still. I still held the book, I knew that, the cover hard, the fabric coarse in my hand.

I do not know what would have been worse for me to hear.

That he would claim it to be a fabrication of my mind would surely drive me out of it, but to hear that it was real, and I'd felt so... so much like I did at that very moment. Enraptured, delirious. 'Don't do anything I wouldn't do '. Lucy whispered again at my ear.

"Yes." and then as his eyes fixed upon mine, his hand slid down my forearm bringing a still more heady wave to bear upon me with that simple motion. To be mesmerized is a cheap word until you are within the thrall of it. I swear I felt drunken , yet I was aware of the fact that I hardly had a glass at dinner. 

Then he was close. If he moved slowly or rapidly I cannot say I only know that I was suddenly trapped. There was a dull 'thud' as Origin of the species, slipped numb and forgotten from my fingers to the floor as his body trapped mine. Hedging me backwards so that the case pressed into my back.

I am not capable of rationalizing that the face only days ago which I had found so hideous was now so unequivocally mesmerizing now. How had those lines in the span of days faded to the softest wrinkles? How the hair which had been ropes of spider webs, become the sleek distinguished black streaked with grey, like a silver foxes? Where had that dizzy age gone which I first marked? To now be a vigorous man, who could not be aged later than his fifties? 

My chest and throat burned strangely and this intensified the feeling of my heart within my breast which threatened to burst out of those constricting ribs. I felt certain I was forgetting something, but I knew not what.

"Breath." He murmured. Ah, that was what. His body barred mine, leaving a sliver of space so meaningless it made it somehow more agonizing, the air between us held some sort of energy which heightened the anticipation. That point of contact at my wrist was all the more keenly felt, my own pulse throbbing where it was encased. His other arm had lifted to rest upon a shelf ledge so the effect was to be surrounded by him. 

"I think I've forgotten how." I admitted depleting the last of my reserves. So overwhelmed It seemed that my mind had forgotten even the most rudimentary functions. 

"Let me help with that." He drew nearer until I saw not his face, but the line of his cheek and jowl which then disappeared to the dark seamless cavity where his neck and suit met, as his own head tucked to my cheek. 

Something cool drew a line at the cusp of my jaw and my lobe. Not understanding at first what it was. His cold nose? I thought stupidly but no. Wet and cool it traced to the lobe of my ear where it curled. The unmistakable dexterity of a tongue then pulled the sensitive flesh between soft lips and teeth sucking . 

I gasped.

I could never imagine feeling quite so much. Just when I thought it was impossible to feel more I was overcome by a new wave of awareness in another place. The touch of his cheek, the shift of his grip at my wrist as he leaned in closer... the aching between my thighs. 

Once I began to breathe I could not seem to stop. The noise of it filled me, like an unstoppable engine. I panted like a panicked animal. My body flush with heat, his mouth cool upon the lobe he teased mercilessly with his teeth. It is strange, because I know mouths aren't meant to be cool but then at that moment, it only heightened the supreme ecstasy and unbearable delight of it. 

He laughed as I grew just as dizzy breathing as I went holding my breath.

"Less now." He instructed but now I could not speak at all, I was trapped by my own body's will and only whimpered near swooning. Me swooning? I had not thought myself capable of such dramatics, but I was near to it as I had ever been in my life; as he traced his way back to my mouth and there began to slow my breath by stealing it. 

Slow languorous kisses. I'd never been kissed beyond those chaste touches of lips but this was more like... more like being devoured. He stole my breath and forced me to ration myself between the motions of his lips. At first, I was immobilized, but his tongue... Dear lord, his tongue. Cool and thick and dexterous , folding and sliding against mine luring me into a dance with his own, guiding me into step with him... Like the piano duet. 

A sound I barely recognized as my own escaped me so erotic, that a fresh wave of heat and arousal crashed upon me. That was the final shock which brought me to myself. As one might wake themselves from a dream by being woken by their own cry for help. 

I came crashing back to myself in an instant, no longer floating or midair I landed broken and bruised back to reality. Reality where I was pinned like a butterfly by a cat to the wall by a man I hardly knew. By a man who seemed to have some insidious plot I barely seemed capable of grasping who was at this very moment seeking to steal my virtue.

"No!" 

I had twisted my head away, breaking my mouth free with a gasp and throwing my hand over my mouth where saliva whetted my lips, an awfully repulsive feeling. He seemed to withdraw to observe me and I feared at first anger, but what I saw was somehow much worse. 

His expression smug, rapacious and vulturous. There was a bestial savagery to his mouth and It seemed in a terrible instant his teeth were serrated. There was no anger in his eyes at all, only a raptorial delight .

"Get off!" I pushed his body, but it was like stone and it brought a fresh surge of terror through me. As if to make clear that it was by his own will and not by any strength I might possess which permitted my departure he eased back at my next push. But even this was a cruelty for he did not move enough that I could break cleanly. No, I had to force my way out, driving my body against his. If it all wasn't so barbaric he took this opportunity to noisily suck in a bestial breath, turning his head into my hair  **seeming** to take in my scent. His nose grazing my cheek before I stumbled free of him. 

I did not look back.

The image of his gloating chased me well beyond the sight of him. I find it hard to tell how long it might have taken me to reach my rooms. I only know that I ran and eventually made it, quaking as I slammed the door shut. Then in a moment I barricaded the door, overcome with a surge of paranoid thought that he might somehow come in the night.

I have done my best to account honestly all that has transgressed. I am well and truly exhausted now without the energy to summon judgment or self loathing, yet I fear sleep. Every noise... every creak awakens within me the fear of his entering my room The shadows flicker at times and I feel both unwell and unnerved to say the least of the mounting shame that builds only greater at each moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warmer and warmer it seems :) Poor Sophie.  
> Minor edits 07/10/2020  
> Edited- 11/07/2020
> 
> Interested in an audio clip of this scene?  
> Check out my sound cloud:
> 
> https://soundcloud.com/rose-590888387/library-dracula-rc


	7. April 8th 1897

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trap begins to close...

_Sophie Harker's Diary_

_April 8th 1897_

* * *

My night was wretched and I slept only as morning light began, and then not long. Soon a knocking upon my door stirred the doze I had fallen into. 

"Sophie. May I come in?" 

It is here I should have said, 'Yes papa, ' and admitted to him all that had transgressed. 

I imagine he would have held me, and I should have said once I had cried 'Papa lets leave, we can take the horses and never see this awful place again!' and in seeing me so desperate and anguished he might have agreed.

This scene haunts me, stinging me with venomous regret and blackened self loathing as I might muster... 

Here is instead what occurred, in its terrible final sequence to lead us to where we are now which is to say... without much hope. But that is getting ahead of myself so I will begin again, and this time with less lamenting, for I am sure there will be plenty of pages for that.

* * *

At the door my father's knock sounded.

"Sophie? May I come in?" The idea of him entering, of seeing my despair and my state... The state in which I'd allowed the Count to place me... it burned me like coals from the inside out.

"N-no papa, please I'm... I'm not feeling well. I'd like to sleep." There was a moment of silence and I can imagine him now, tired looking but earnestly and tenderly worried about me with all the sweet gentility of his nature pressed into his tired face.

"Alright. I'm going to spend my time searching. You'll... you'll be alright my dear?" A part of me wanted to caution him, to get out of bed and put a stop to all his foolish wanderings. But the rest of me was stifled with self-pity and wanting nothing more than to wrap myself about in my sheets and seek respite from myself and this place through the oblivion of sleep.

"Alright... I love you." I said that at least.

"I love you too Sophie." He said.

Why did I not simply let him in? Why did I not go to him?

Instead, I replayed the humiliation of the previous night. It coruscated behind my closed eyes wresting me away from sleep, always at the last moment. 

The feeling of his hand sliding down my wrist. That cool tongue, and the gathering of my lobe between his lips... The heady intense shock of what followed.

In my frustration I screamed into my pillow and half mad sprang up, unable to bear the feeling of my own crawling flesh which still held the feeling of him. I stripped from my gown, and found myself plunging into my icy bath water which had yet to be emptied. I had not realized how heated I had become and gasped at the sudden trauma of the cold. It did me good. Slapping me awake and from all my self loathing pity. 

If only it had not been too late already.

I washed myself prodigiously from head to toe, the rhythm of this allowed me a sense of focus and a point in which to concentrate I felt I was hanging on by my nails upon a ledge. Precariously close to dropping back into that piteous state which had tormented me throughout the night and that morning. It was creeping to noon by the time my hair was brushed dry and softly plaited. A halo of jasmine surrounding me, one of those magnificent oils from the mirror less vanity. It was a comfort in the castle's stale air. 

Before my door was my breakfast tray as was usual, but what was not usual was the green and gold emblazoned book. Darwin's 'On the Origin of the species'. A piece of paper was stuck from the pages, and hesitating I took the book and opened it to the page. It was a note, a quote which was book marked from a particular passage. In his scrawl which I knew very well from my father's letters of correspondence, it read:

'One general law, leading to the advancement of all organic beings, namely, multiply, very, let the strongest live and the weakest die.'

I read it several times, with each time growing more incensed . Imagining his smirking face as he wrote it. I did not take it literally as I may now know as it might have been. To me this was a provocation, and in my state of sensitivity and self loathing I took this as a jab. 

Me, the _'_ _**weak female'** _ _._.. memories of his devouring mouth upon mine and that terrible illicit sound which had emerged from the depths of my own throat... I cringed and balling up the note threw it to the ground where it rolled somewhere unseen. I of course would cause no such harm to the book which I then took up considering. 

**G** rowing too warm despite the cool air I moved to let into the room, I considered submerging again into the cool of the bath. Perhaps I am coming down with fever? I tried to convince myself but even then I did not believe it. 

I read for a while that book and ate breakfast in bed savouring the tart fruits and filling bread made thick with jam and butter. I ate and read, and ate and read until I was so stuffed with words and food I was a blimp and yet still felt some desperate hollow ache which by no matter the words or by stuffing remained a dissatisfied void. 

Movement I decided was my only recourse. Having composed myself, I had some hope of finding father and perhaps joining him on his exploration. 

But this was not to be. 

My father though I did not know it then was slipping beyond my reach, perhaps was already beyond it by the time I left my rooms the late afternoon. 

I spent some time looking for him when as fool-hearted as a moth is drawn to flame I found myself again in that blasted sitting room. As if to prove a point I ignored the piano's existence and built a small fire trying not to feel too sorry for myself and made a turn about the room. 

There was one last piece of furniture which was of any interest to me. 

The desk, locked by a roll top. I approached it innocently first, and then, less innocently I felt about the lock. 

There was once a silly rogue who climbed over the wall for weeks in an attempt to woo Lucy. He had a way of getting into things and Lucy in all her glorious cheek told him that if he could get into her bedroom through the locked door at the terrace she would favour him with a kiss. I watched then, as the boy withdrew what seemed to be hairpins and the curious technique as he 'picked' it.

I was not nearly so skilled. I found a letter opener and before I could hesitate, jammed it into the lock viciously until it popped free. 

A savage satisfaction surged through me. 'Take that '. But my rationality was quick to return whispering dread into my ear.

'You just broke into a private desk!'

My god, what had I done? Why had I done it? I was at a loss as to what I had been thinking, even now what ever inspired the delinquent act is a mystery. 

I warred with myself, for some minutes before the fog cleared from my vision, the damage was done. I opened the top and observed what was upon the desk.

Open letters.

Whatever inspiration which had heated me now fell out along with my stomach. For I think it's a simple matter to guess whose letters they were.

Open, the seals broken. Those which he'd assured he sent and those he had promised to send that very day. 

My legs became watery and I found it necessary to sit.

As a trap closes on oneself, one which you'd  **felt** but only not understood the nature of... No matter how you had suspected, there remained a bodily flinch to find so physical an evidence of the betrayal.

'Where is papa? ' I wondered desperately. It was then that I truly began to fear for him and myself. No longer in some intangible way, but with genuine fear of our lives. Albeit the pieces of it all were still so strange. Could it be that my fathers illness be some... some form of poisoning? Though we ate the same food, perhaps in breakfast there was some mechanism for an insidious delivery of a toxin. Then there were the Counts interactions with me. Was this some perverted way in which he could claim possession of me to do with whatever he desired? But that was surely preposterous.

I pushed back this swell of paranoia, attempting to root myself into something sensible. 

The letters. They were tangible. Real, evidence of violation and not merely superstition and suspicion.

Summoning myself I decided that whatever game this was It was over. I gathered the letters to take them to the dining room in which either father would stumble eventually or I would meet with, and confront the Count once and for all. I would demand answers, whatever they may be. I refused to be some cats paw.

Looking back I could have laughed at the indignant girl, white knuckled with fury holding her trifling little papers. My naivety and the innocence I was not aware I had not yet shed was not to last much longer.

I waited so long I must have dozed. I do not know what it was which bade my eyes open, I thought maybe I heard a soft groan and by that I began coming awake. My eyes opened to the glow of the diminishing fire and to sensing some activity only just out of my sight. 

I expected perhaps my father. Or the Count. One, that is to say, or the other. 

The movement was just behind my chair forcing me to turn. There upon the animal skin rug before that quieting fire, growing lazy and indolent now in the hearth was a stooped figure. 

Dark clad and far too large to be my papa, he was bent over something which I couldn't quite see. My chair groaned a little as I rubbed sleep from my eyes and leaned further.

The black figure rose. It was by this motion, and his height I recognized it to be the Count. 

"Didn't mean to wake you." He drawled, not turning to face me, his voice thick, as he took a single large step over what he'd laid upon the floor, picking his cloak up as he moved. My gaze followed his movement, but snagged like a thorn snags the cotton of a dress and my gaze arrested at first without recognition of what lay before the fire. 

There, grimy and haphazard was a ragged creature. I was stuck first that it was some retch, or perhaps one of those tortured servants I had mused that the Count perhaps had locked away somewhere but the head twisted to the side, tipping towards me and it was then I knew the face of my father. 

"My god! What happened?" I forgot myself and everything else, there was only, in that moment the shock of seeing him as he was, so diminished. It seemed more likely that some creature had taken his skin and stretched it above that of a skull. How had he gotten so small? Where was the man of wide shoulders where I used to perch as a child, and the strong lean arms which once swung me? The chair made some clamour as I pushed it, and I dropped to his side. 

"I found him downstairs, I think he must have fallen asleep." ' Fallen asleep ?' How could he speak in such an unconcerned, blase way? 

"My god look at him! He's seriously ill how can you-?" That was when I turned to look upon our host and when I fell abruptly silent.

The lines of his face could not have marked him over fifty, perhaps even a hardy man in his forties. He stood tall, with his broad shoulders and an easy elegance one would expect of a man of aristocracy. He was holding a crystalline glass, the same we used every night for wine, yet there was no bottle open which I could remark. As he looked at me he raised it to his lips, the liquid within almost sluggish as he tipped it back. It glittered black in the light of the fire. I don't know what I was thinking if anything at all. I was pinned by the smouldering points of his eyes and taken aback to the moment in the library where his raptorial goading face smiled with lips still slick with the eager ministrations of his devouring mouth. 

Then I remembered what I had just found. The letters and why I had waited up for him. Tongue tied however, I rose unsteadily, using the table to bring myself up.

"I'm glad you're here Sophie." He said, as sluggish as that thick gleaming russet liquid coalesced in the bottom of the glass. "When our dear Johnny boy wakes, would you be a love and-" Like some unconscious scream, I could not bring my eyes from the glass he held.

"What is that?" He held it and looked upon it as if he'd only just noticed it himself and stepped towards me where I could see the where the fluid was thinnest, crawling up the edge of the glass it showed as deep maroon. 

"Oh this? Just a drink, you know wet the pallet before dinner." He tipped it a little more emphatically, only solidifying my certainty that its consistency was altogether too thick to possibly be wine.

"It doesn't look like wine." A paranoid fear seized me, had I only just awoken to see him tipping some poison down my fathers throat? 

"I never said it was wine. Now-" What inspired me to seize the glass and attempt to wrest it from his hand must have been that mysterious thing which brought me to burst the lock upon his desk.

The ease of his face fell like a sheet, exposing below a façade the savagery of a wolf laughing through his teeth. He could have easily disengaged me but instead he did the opposite.

"I'm sorry are you thirsty?" With a nasty delight instead of pulling the glass away from my ineffective attempt to take it, he instead pushed it up into my face and tipped it back. The crystal struck against my teeth at the force, before the luke warm liquid began spilling over my face. There was a strong coppery tang to the scent, the fluid, was thick but spread between my lips which had not had time to seal against the onslaught. He brought the glass away just as suddenly and my hand flew up as it ran down my mouth and chin. Though I tried not to swallow, it spread thin on my tongue filling my mouth with the unmistakable taste of. . . 

Blood.

"What do you think? Not a bad vintage, older than you at least." My hand came away from my mouth, no longer black but that deep maroon and I gagged, peddling away from him. Only forgetting that just behind me was the table which I struck abruptly. The ledge drove hard at my lower back.

Not poison. Blood. 

That was the thought my mind and body was wild with, yet still even in this certainty I couldn't fathom what this meant, what this was .

"Blood?" My mouth was thickening with saliva as I tried not to swallow, my stomach still roiling.

"Look at you, as tempting as a chocolate dipped strawberry." He closed the space which I'd just taken, trapping me between the table and his body, my lower back throbbing. He caged me just as he had within the library. This time it was not in ecstasy in which I fought from swooning, but terror as he took me by my face with a strong flex of his hand, and with the other snatched at mine which was wet and slick with maroon. 

"Waste not, want not." He said and the smooth edge of his countenance became uneven. His nostrils flared, I swore the terrain beyond his lips became sharper. As he opened his mouth I saw more clearly the jagged edges emerging from the wet hollow as he claimed my finger and drew it into the dark moist cavern of his mouth, and sucked. 

My pulse throbbed at the tip of my finger, coaxed by the tongue. There was both revulsion and something else. . . The tortuously sweet ache blooming like a dark mirror, blending with the revulsion. My body a traitor. I watched genuine revelry bloom upon his face as his eyes closed and his tongue curled.

"What are you?" When he opened his eyes to look upon me they were pits of tar which floated in a sea of blood. He began pulling my finger through the seal of his lips, withdrawing it slowly, his teeth scraping, so as he did I shuddered until it popped free, cool and tingling in the air. 

"Oh, I'm a vampire and you... You are looking incredibly sumptuous right now." His hand about my jaw forced my chin up, as with a proverbial purr of desire his head sunk towards mine. I revolted against this but it was useless. My eyes screwed shut as the slippery cool tongue pressed flat over my mouth. Stroking, no laving, as a dog might greedily lick the grease from an unsuspecting child's cheeks. It was with aberrant revelry that dexterous slug, probed and lapped clean what lingered of the blood from me, leaving repulsive saliva thick behind. 

Once he'd taken what he desired from the plains of my face, his attention shifted to the place left within. Worming, his tongue worked with a focus to my lips which I had pressed closed. The pressure of his grip increased as I resisted, dimpling the hollows of my cheeks until, I yielded. My whimper sucked into the vacuum of his mouth as his vile appendage surged into mine. Thick and greedy, stuffing inside. As he did this, he leaned ever further into my body. 

The terror, mixed with these abhorrent ministrations was quickening onto what I now, know to be arousal. When he receded, allowing the first full breath I felt a strange ache of despair at the moment of his withdrawal, clashing with equally vivid relief. This was heightened by the velvet of his voice as he looked down upon me.

"Oh yes, you do like that don't you?" My eyes opened to see the wet and glistening smear about his mouth. 

"Please stop." I begged through cheeks stiffening with his drying saliva. Attempting to get away, I succeeded in only knocking the ink well over the letters which I had strewn across the table. He seemed to take them in for the first time.

"Someone's been, snooping." He emphasized this by pushing his leg hard between mine, leaning his body in such a way that sent an undulation of anticipation followed by the hollow ache of longing.

"I particularly liked the part where you mentioned. . .How did you put it? 'The quality of a powerful youth' ." I tried to focus. . . I had to focus. Everything was too vivid! Too strange. Though he had just told me everything I still felt like I knew nothing!

"What do you want from us?" 

"Do you remember when you asked me what I would have you say in those feminine circles about me, when you returned to England?" 

Of course, I remembered though It seemed so long ago.

"You. . . Never answered me." His free hand brushed aside my hair and trailed that cool touch lower. 

"I'd have you tell them... Nothing." There was a hardness in his face, but then a softening as he spoke again, his hand travelling still lower. "You have been a real unexpected delight Sophie." My breath hitched as his hand stroked through the fabric, gliding above my breast and down. An almost tenderness in his speaking, It was the wolf apologizing to the rabbit who quickened and quivered there like a fool. 

There was a groan, a louder call to consciousness issued from the floor. Papa. He released me, allowing me to break at last from him, so I might fall to my fathers side.

"Papa?" Despair and relief mingling as his lids twitched open. 

"W-whose that?" He mumbled peering up like he was looking into the face of a stranger before drooping back closed, and he again lost consciousness. His waxen brow smoothed. Trembling, I moved to brush his hair and it shed, falling away like dandelion fluff, floating, and the urge to retch seized my throat.

"Don't be too hard on him, he's... a little drained ."

"He's dying!"

"Yes, that  **is** the idea... Look why don't you take care of him for now, and if you could be a love and tell him when he wakes I'll need him to write three letters..." I cradled my fathers head upon my lap gingerly and looked up to Dracula. He drew his fingers about his mouth, clearing the lingering gleam, but paused as he met my gaze seeming to reconsider something "Actually, you know what? Never mind, you look like you need a little time to let this all... Settle. I'm a monster not insensitive."

"What if we leave?" His brows crept up, and a pout softened his mouth as he considered this, after which his shoulders rose, a languid half shrug.

"I suppose you might try, no one is stopping you. It is dark and carriage roads at night can be... Treacherous. Not to mention you'd first need to rig the carriage. . . Supposing you know how, you might be able to get away without any driving experience in the dark. . ." I was getting the idea, but he continued driving his point home. "Or by foot, but you know the wolves this time of year. . . Not very amicable, and with someone not in the peak of health. . ." He made a face an, exaggeration of expression almost comical as he emphasized suddenly: "You'd travel best really on your own, much faster. There is a doctor in Bistritz."

"And leave him with you?" His smile was wolfish.

"Well, I'll let you think about it. I hope you'll excuse me for dinner this evening, I have my own to catch." Though I did not see him leave he was... Gone, as if by some magicks. 

I waited in uncertainty for a long while, afraid to move and I think in some state of shock. For when my father began to stir, I only then became aware of how long I must have sat still. Limbs locked and aching for the position. I cared only about my father whose brow was beginning to knit, his eyes rolling behind thin lids and then the blinking slivers of blue which shone from beneath.

"Why am I on the floor?" Came his almost sweetly bewildered remark, but he saw my distress. "Sophie, what's wrong?"

"You don't... you don't remember how you came here?" I began almost immediately to cry quite freely and one of these tears dripped upon his cheek. Gathering my sleeve I dabbed it dry, embarrassed before catching the rest before they could fall. The saliva had dried stiff about my mouth and my stomach churned as I scrubbed it.

"I was-was..." He stopped and then, as if some foul vision welled in his mind's eye his face was marked with a starkness even deeper than the pale hollow pallor of his complexion. "I-Is he here?" His wide eyes searched and I attempted to sooth him. 

"He's gone, for now. I-I don't know how long... Can you stand?" 

"I-I might." He said, and using our combined strength, together we got his feet beneath him. All the while I could not help but mark the frailness of his body, like that of a street waifs.

We escaped to my room, the blue ribbon was a relief to find marking our way. Settling my father upon the four-poster I moved to ensure the window was fastened shut, and then sought to somehow bar the door. 

"It won't matter. God, Sophie you should go... Leave me here." Remembering to that had been Dracula's suggestion I shuddered.

"No! I won't hear of it." My body was still unclean from his touches.

"You don't know... Don't know what he is..." Of course, I did, he'd told me exactly what he was. 'Oh, I'm a Vampire...'

"A Vampire." I offered into the muffled shadows of the room.

"How-?" 

"I came upon him as he... As he..." Remembering the taste of blood, I touched my mouth, shuddering as it was followed by the vivid recollection of his invading tongue. "And you?"

"I found a path, deeper than I have ever travelled. It brought me to the very foundations of the castle. . . There were boxes, I fear those who came here before us."

"Were they?" filled ? I feared to ask, but did not need to elaborate.

"Yes. Only..." He hesitated and I behind his eyes the shadows of the nightmare passed across his gaze, and that alone was powerful enough to send chills down my spine. "Perhaps it's better you don't know." and he looked away. By that haunted look I knew enough, and more: that there was worse to be found. Father continued. "He was there even deeper, inside a tomb... His own tomb."

I settled him to sleep and sat to accord the account, and its summary: We are trapped within the labyrinth without locks, by our host who is... a Vampire. I have never been one for fables and I find myself now regretting that, as I am left to piece together what we have seen and experienced. 

Any hope for escape I believe, was lost to my foolish misery this morning. I fear what will become of us.

By my estimation we face a blood drinker, capable of returning to youth by its taking. With obvious effects upon the victim. He has an obvious strength and speed, the extent of which I do not know. Only that it is far beyond my own. He sleeps by fathers account within a tomb. 

My only consolation has been that perhaps it was not any of my own weakness, as much as his devilry which manipulated me into that state of. . . Illicit feeling and indecency. For is that not the Devil's terrain, subversion of the body by way to corrupt the spirit? Having the time now to revisit my old logs and my memories, I feel we may have some ally in all this after all. That leaden weight that rests warm above my breast. That last gift of Marianne's. Though I cannot be certain of it yet I-

My recording was interrupted before its completion by non other than our host.

As I sat, his shadow fell across the door and a hallowed knock announced him. Remembering my cross about my breast and at my own unconfirmed musings. I knew then that this was my chance to know for sure. 

And there he stood, the nightmare in the flesh of a man. And there was a man's look of hunger upon his face as I opened the door a small way. It would not keep him out, I knew but then why would he have knocked? If not, to at least pretend to respect that pitiful boundary? 

"Good evening Miss Harker... Trouble sleeping?"

"Have you come then to finish what you began?" Though I steeled my body for a push, it was by instinct not logic.

"Something like that... How is our dear Johnny?" 

"Sleeping."

"Let me in and I promise to make it quick, for him... For you I can imagine something slower and infinitely more... Enjoyable." I can note now that what always preceded the sweet lull, was a surge of physical sensation, shepherded by both his gaze and his voice. That thick lilting accent which brought me the feeling of insulated intimacy, yet the thrill of exotic unfamiliarity that bade me nearer. I felt this draw as a drain draws the water to it. But my hand clutching my breast reminded me of the presence of that which might save me. 

I withdrew it, before I lost the will to dare. 

His reaction was. . . Both instant and terrible.

Sleep which any creature enjoyed then, was shattered by the sound of his cry. The inhuman fury upon his face! His teeth serrated, the blood in his eyes! 

I fell back behind the door as his powerful blow shook both it and myself, causing debris from the ceiling of the room to dislodge showering dust upon me. Father shot up from where he lay with rounded eyes.

"Think your clever?" And he laughed. A brutal long laugh. "That little cross won't save you for long. . . It only means I have to get creative."

"Sophie?!" My father squeaked from the bed marking my terrified countenance. 

"Leave us alone!" I turned still trying to keep the door closed, but it came open inch by gradual inch creating an opening by which I saw his hand splayed flat pushing before his face filled the gap. A bloody vow in his savage face. 

"Tonight, I will but tomorrow I will not be so. . .  **Accommodating** ." Only then did my weight collapse into it snapping it shut.

I was too frightened to leave the door, as if my frail body had anything to do with keeping it shut. 

"Are you... Are you alright?" My father asked, and finally I was brave enough to break away and go to his side.

"He's gone for now I think... Try and get more sleep papa." I convinced him after some effort, and then finished my account here.

Now the sun I see is offering the first change of colour to the sky in the east. I am tired and I will try to sleep now if I can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapters faced heavy revision as I went through several 'version's until I found the one I felt was best suited. As such it is a little more 'raw' than the chapters that follow (which have undergone less tearing and re-stitching!) If you notice any dates off, or linearity issues feel free to point them out.
> 
> Edited: 11/07/2020


	8. April 9th 1897

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie and Jonathan, scratch at the walls of their cages seeking an escape. Sophie makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited- accidentally posted half the chapter but corrected very quickly, so hopefully no one caught that!

_Sophie Harkers Diary_

_April 9th 1897_

* * *

I woke to the sound of something scraping , and my eyes flew open as a vision of the Count lunging through the doors to fall upon father and myself struck me with dreadful expectation. 

But it was not our captor, only father, struggling to push the beastly wardrobe aside which we'd put across it some time after the nightly encounter for our own peace of mind. Seeing my father working himself like this was no comfort.

"What are you doing?" There was a hollow ache behind my eyes of a mind still yearning for slumber but I pushed it aside, spuriously. 

Papa's cheeks puffed in exertion, inflating the hollow cavity of his cheeks where the bones now stood sharp.

"We don't have much time!" He said in obvious agitation.

"Time for what?" I demanded.

"I woke with the idea... I think I have it Sophie! I need to get to that  **painting** , the one with Petruvio and his wife!" This all sounded exceptionally mad to me, but I rose and helped him move the wardrobe. With our combined effort it gave away the last few inches so that the door could be opened. He stopped then turned to me, eyes earnest and desperate.

"You, Sophie, you're still strong. Please, attempt to take the horses and leave. While I may be weak, I believe the Count has underestimated my resolve. There may yet still be hope for me, and if you take flight now I will be assured, and given heart that you at least have a chance for safety."

I felt only angry at being asked this again.

"Please papa, I told you I have no intention of leaving you." His smile was pained, but grateful.

"I thought not... The paintings then. Come." 

I followed and as I followed my father told me his theory. That the paintings contained some maps of the castle. Though I feared his encroaching madness I dared not argue with him and to my amazement, the maps were there just as he imagined.

I helped him gather them. Silently, feeling some small hope at this. Perhaps, this would be our means of escape! 

"We should bring them somewhere to lay out and study."

"The sitting room below." I suggested, dreading the return to that great hall table, where the papers and remnants of our letters were no doubt strewn with the tatters of my naivety. 

"Yes, yes that will do."

So we descended.

* * *

We built a fire, and I tried to assist father but I admit I did not have the eyes for such a map which was built layer upon layer like a puzzle. The ache behind my eyes only increased looking at all the swirling lines. 

"My goodness, is it possible this might help us escape?"

"Escape?" My father asked, kneeling as he pieced it together with an absorbed conviction. "No, but it may help us find our friend."

My stomach dropped. Father did not even notice me pull away. I felt myself breaking free as if I was floating in disbelief at what I had just heard.

We were not looking for an escape, but this ' friend '. 

I remembered the Counts words as if he was speaking to me there. That Slavic beast, thickly accented and agelessly old. . .

> _ 'Reserata Carcerum.  The prison without locks.' _

Father was speaking but I did not hear him. I felt sick. I turned about the room. Only faintly aware of my father's excited words. The roll top was broken, and untouched from where I had left it. I ran my hands along the papers there, unable to even read the words written. Everything seemed very distant. 

_' We are going to die here in this place.'_ Was the conviction which my heart and mind spoke.

When was only a matter of. . . In consequence really. 

Hopelessness crashed through me. My eyes trailing so that I just then saw it. There upon the desk was a gilded, closed frame. I knew it was a frame because I recognized it as the little gold picture window which held papa's picture of Mina.

But why was it here? Had he collected it for amusement's sake or something else? Was it here the previous night or placed only last?

I took it up to observe it, and as I did notice a cast iron key as well. 

"What is that?" My father must have noticed my distraction.

"Oh, it's your picture..." I began and held the thing to him open. He approached but a little frown creased his brows.

"Mine? No, I don't think so. Do you know her?" Surely a jest? But my father was not the kind to make a gaffe in so dire of straits. The bewilderment upon his face was genuine. His eyes vacant of even a passing recognition. I lost for a moment my mind to speak. "Why what is it?"

"I... I'm sorry, you don't recognize her?" I asked.

"Should I?"

"Its... It's my governess." 

"Your governess... Oh! yes..." He said as if vaguely remembering. "It's your picture then?" He remarked, not noting why this would be odd, his eyes darting back to the floor of his schematics. How deep did this blankness go?

"I discovered here that he had taken and read our letters. Even the one you wrote to Mina." I said, testing. He nodded again, but I was uncertain he even heard me, so I continued. "Miss Murray. She must be worried terribly." 

"God... Yes, she must be... If only we could get word to her..." His face contorted a little and my fear was somewhat abated.

"You know it seems silly now me... Contesting your relationship. I think after all you'll be quite good for each other."

"I know you only want what's best for me my darling. You always have, I could not have been luckier as a father in that."

"And I, as a daughter." 

And there he was, still shining through those bright blue eyes. The honest good man I loved, though madness was eating at the edges of that azure blue. His soul... His soul had not yet been corrupted.

Can I say the same?

I cannot say though that I had a true plan then, only the ghostly impressions of something which was seeded and brought to life by opportunity. 

"We don't have a lot of time, only the daylight before he rises again. I'm almost certain I'm onto something here. I think I've found the secret door which will lead to the room above my own..." I tucked the picture away, but remembering the key I moved to take it wondering what it was for. 

He wanted to show me the map upon the floor and the way he'd marked. But I was distracted. It could not have been the key to the roll top, too large.... But the ornate fashion matched the door to this room I thought, turning to observe the similarity. A door with only a single entrance.

"Sophie, are you paying attention?" He asked, a little testily.

"I'm- I'm sorry, I have to relieve myself."

"You, you won't go far?" He asked, looking nervous.

"No not far..." He was turning back to the pages when I made it to the door and my body shielding my actions tested the key upon the lock.

It turned. 

"I'll- I'll just be a moment papa." I said and he didn't even look up. Still muttering under his breath.

I closed the door behind me and only then when the lock slid home did I hear his exclamation of surprise.

"Sophie! Was that you? What is this?" I felt a blow to my own heart, followed by a more frantic strike through the wood.

"Please papa, don't hurt yourself. Just rest. Please you need to rest!"

"What are you doing? Sophie are you mad? We don't have **time** for this!" 

"I'll do the searching for you-" I lied. "I'll get us a way out." I vowed.

"But you need the maps for that! Sophie!" But I had the only map I needed. It was the one in my heart and I knew the place it led.

Which was to say the only creature with the power and means to save us was the devil who trapped us here in the first place.

Count Dracula.

* * *

With the time of day I have left I have returned with my diary to the great hall where I have written this account and now wait for the master of this tomb to arise. . .

* * *

I think he was surprised to see me. To surprise a creature such as him, gave me a little more heart. 

"Good evening Count." My voice was clear and calm, which I afforded to the long time spent in effective meditation. Meditating that is about what it was I was doing there, what I would say upon his arrival and how I would obtain that which I desired, which was in essence was to strike a bargain. 

"Good evening," He greeted, and his eyes moved about the room, perhaps looking for my father, whom of course was still tucked out of sight. "Johnny's still with us I hope? I know he can't have left."

"I locked him in your study." I admitted. 

"Did you now?" As he asked I placed upon the table before me the key to the study, so he could see it. "Now why would you do that?"

"I wanted to speak with you privately."

A beat of silence.

"And here we are." 

I released my hand from where it held the cross at my chest and marked again the effect it had upon his countenance. He raised his hand to shield it from his sight. 

"Threats is it then Sophie?" He snarled from behind his hand, but by then my effect was reached and I moved to cover the cross.

"I've put it away now." I said, and he cautiously turned his face back to me lowering his hand, I did what I could to hold his gaze. "I am perfectly aware we have no chances of leaving here. I've come to strike a bargain with you."

"Now this I do have to hear. To bargain , would be to presume that you have something in which to trade." That steadiness I'd managed until then now gave way. The cross leaden in my hand and though it must be by my own imaginings it seemed as if the chain was tightening about my throat.

"I have only- myself." I admitted.

"Yes, but I don't think you're going anywhere."

"I may not be able to leave, but you will never have me as you would desire. Not so long as I wear this."

A beat of silence that I could not endure, and still not looking at him I continued, fearing that should my throat close I would be left unable to speak, thus to make my plea and my case.

"You could kill me of course by many means, starve me, leave me to wolves or the elements. I have no doubt there are any number of fashions you could dispose of me once my father is dead." Was he looking at me? I feared to check, perhaps he'd evaporated with the speed in which he'd departed from us last, and I was talking to myself? But no, I was almost certain he was listening and with the greatest of keenness. "But to a creature like you I imagine that would be- a waste." ' Waste not want not .' I had studied my accounts of him in order to build the most persuasive narrative I might and felt some hope that I had come to know him in my own way from those moments.

"I'm listening." I risked a look at his shoes and continued up, but no further than to the table-top where his hand rested, gripping the edge in a flex which made the tendons stand out before relaxing. Betraying, I think his temperament of the moment. Whether it was anticipation or agitation. In my mind I berated myself for playing the trick of the cross, angering him before we'd begun. 

"You- You said it yourself that my father had little- left to him . I ask only that you spare what remains and offer him passage to hospice and care. Let him live what remains of his life with Miss Murray in peace. In exchange for his silence and- and my remaining in his stead." I should have been paying more attention, but perhaps considering what I was coming to know of his unholy abilities I suspect even had my attention been fully focused upon him I still would have been surprised to find myself caught in his grip. 

His hand closed upon mine over the cross, clamping in such a way I would never have been able to free it. He loomed a foot above me, his face eclipsing my vision which the firelight played upon, starkly bright in some places and shadowed in others. I was secured not by the first grip but the second as had become his habit to secure by my hip.

I could only manage a small cry of alarm at this, my eyes flying to his face. He could by means of his own hand rend the cross from my neck and thus destroy its protection over me and have me there, as he desired. 

It's all for nothing then . I thought with terrible certainty. 

But he did not.

"You'd trade yourself, to save him?" He asked, neither mocking nor kind, merely watchful , as if searching my face for sincerity. 

"Yes." I said finding my resolution again now that I was prevented to shy away.

He dipped down and certain something revolting was to follow: his tongue in my experience. In expectation for this or worse: a bite perhaps? I was surprised to feel only the press of something hard against my head and blinked realizing he was pressing his forehead to mine. His breath splayed across my face, stale but strangely scentless, and he murmured on that breath:

"Do you have any idea the things I could do to you?"

"I-It doesn't matter." He shifted his grip upon my hip but I kept myself still. It doesn't matter . I had to assure myself.

"No? Not even to Johnny? And what if instead I offer  **you** to go?" Even if I did not fear some trick this thought would not be born.

"No. I won't leave him," I rubbed my head against his in vehemence of this.

"You think he'll leave you?"

"He- He will for Mina, If you threaten her, I can convince him of the rest." The closeness departed, and I dared open my eyes again to see his dark gaze seeming to consider.

I clutched at this pause for all that it could mean and used it by way to further 'sell' my bargain.

"I-I can do everything he can do! I've been his secretary since I was a child and I know his hand. I can write the letters, with whatever you design, and we can send them with your instruction. You don't **need** him anymore, he can't... He can't hurt you." At the memory of his helpless face I cracked and hot tears erupted, though I tried to squeeze my eyes shut to slow them. I dared not move, still locked there by him, and they spilled down my cheeks, trickling to my chin which trembled, wetting down my neck and dripping. 

"Alright that's enough," Came his soft command. Could he really be agreeing? Or was this some trick? I watched him warily straddling the edges of hope and uncertainty, trusting neither more than the other. He stared down at me with almost grave consideration as if thinking very deeply. As if weighing some scales in his mind.

"For me to agree I will need to hear it from him that he will not meddle in my affairs, If I hear a peep-"

"You won't!" I exclaimed, but he gave me a dark look, "He would not dare to risk it." I whispered, quieter, still trying to reign in that feeling.

"I will hear it from him, I'm less convinced he'll part with you freely." And he smirked. "I know I wouldn't."

"I have no intention of leaving him the choice." I said, ignoring the second. 

"We shall see. The letters I require. You will write them now." I swallowed uneasily.

"What is to prevent you from merely taking them and doing as you please?"

"By my own demonstration do you really think I can't take what I desire by force?" He flexed his hand above my own reminding me of just that and I swallowed, acknowledging this as true but still fearful and suspicious of his turn.

"Then why don't you?" My voice hovered weakly, as I wondered how could this be anything but a trick?

"That, my dear would be telling." He said coy, and offered me no assurance. With his free hand he tapped me once upon the nose and then, his hand loosened above mine as he withdrew. He waved his hand with a dismissive kind of cheerfulness. 

"Write the letters or don't, I will see to Johnny's things. When I've returned with them I'll be very interested to see you convince him." He was beginning away, and I stumbled for a moment to keep up with him as only as I realized how very little I had been expecting him to actually agree .

"Wait! The letters, what do you, what do you need?" He paused at the banister and touched his lip thoughtfully.

"Three letters, from Johnny's hand marking arrival first Bistritz, then another marking arrival to Hungary. if Johnny is to send them the dates can be left open. As to your own letters- I'm sure you can be creative?" He flashed an easy smile. "I look forward to reading them." With great energy he began up the stairs leaving me to brood above the mess of papers upon the table. The old letters, spoiled now by ink had to be cleared away and below was fresh paper. I set myself to the task of ordering it and my mind with it, trying not to think of all that was ahead of me or what was to be my fate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nibblet. Family is visiting so I'm sneaking this one in, hopefully its not too rough :)  
> Edited 11/07/2020


	9. April 9th - April 10th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie says her goodbyes.

_Sophie Harkers Dairy_

_April 9th 1897_

* * *

_A letter to Lucy Westenra, recorded by best memory- S.H_

* * *

_My Dear Lucy,_

_This is my last letter to you, my dearest friend. The last, because unfortunately for both of us I could not keep my promise to you. Though I am certain that this was always your secret hope._

_The request was, and I quote ' You will watch out won't you my Sophie for those wicked Eastern men? Don't do anything I wouldn't do!'_

_In the first half I honestly can say that I paid absolutely no mind at all to any Eastern men, which is the trouble, for I was all the more vulnerable when I was set upon; and in the second I'm afraid that I not only did exactly what I imagined you might do and worse. That is to say, I drank myself silly most nights, spoke freely even when I should have not and allowed myself to be unchaperoned with a stranger._

_Then Lucy, I did what you would never do. Do you remember those 'powerful youths' we used to laugh at? Well, you may mourn for me now Lucy because worse than a powerful youth is an Eastern aristocrat, by yards or perhaps an ocean._

_He is Lucy, more wicked than the Devil, if not the incarnate of the beast in the flesh. Yes, believe it, for when have I ever lied to you? Surely not as often as you to me at least. And yes, I am quite aware you did **in fact** take my favourite ribbon and use it as a favour to that officer last year. _

_And you know I cannot possibly forgive you. But that is because there was never a moment I resented you. As almost anyone who has met you have been, I was always your faithful chum, and quite proud to consider you mine. Unlike those others however who may admire you for your beauty and virtue (which we both know is hogwash) I have always admired you for the absolute worst._

_I finally can admit that. Yes Lucy I envied you, not for your beauty, or privilege, or prowess or any fairer of the virtues, but really for all the things I know you to be: conniving, indecent, and cleverer than most men by half and quite able to get away with all of it without a mark against your reputation!_

_It is my hope then my darling you will remain that way, that is: cleverer than me. And when it is you next see a powerful youth, or even a wicked Easterner remember your silly friend Sophie Harker and mind your usual tactics when it comes to men and the war for your heart. What I think you always recognized about those types I can assure you is true._

_It is not my friend, your heart that they desire so much as your soul. Keep yours unchained my love, as it was always meant to be._

_Your eternal Chuckaboo,_

_Sophie Harker._

* * *

"I thought you might be hungry." He said and my eyes having been long straining by candle light came to focus on a dish which had suddenly been laid down. There was cheese and and cuts of meat which made my mouth and belly roll in eager anticipation. He set too down a carafe of silver which sweated with cool dew. No doubt wine as well, but I'd lost my taste of that I think for a while. The water however was cold, offering frigid refreshment. I could not say that he did not feed his lambs for slaughter well. 

Having just finished signing the letter to Lucy which I had written more as a form of dark humour, my serious letter already within a pile I was mildly offended when he picked it up. 

"I wrote more... serious version, I'll take that one back to the fire if you'd like." I said reaching, but it was already hopelessly out of my grip and with apparent speed he was reading it, beginning to smile. 

"No, I quite like this version... You do have a way with words Sophie. ' An incarnate of the beast himself .'" He recited chuckling and I flushed. 

"But it doesn't match the other letters- It isn't dated !" I objected. I had written it as more of what I had desired to tell her. While the more serious letter would leave her in the dark as to what would seem to be my absence, or perhaps suspected death. This was a manifestation of how I wished she'd see my absence. Something silly and wicked. She might never forgive me, but she would as well be left with decadent delight, thinking I was actually off living in the very indecent fashion she always desired to. 

"Life takes strange turns, and you've left it just vague enough to be harmless to me." He fit it into an envelope, and tapping it inside folded it closed and held the wax over the candle to drip it upon the centre. Once stamped he picked it up and offered it to me. "But if you'd really prefer to burn it?" I took it, and considered that but I returned it to his hands. 

This way Lucy may have some fantastical vision of me living some kind of life here in Romania. It may just be the first time she was jealous of me sincerely. So silly of a thing made me somewhat lighter of spirit in so grim a time. "Excellent." He said and with the letters in a stack tapped them into a neat bundle. "When you're ready." I ate only a bite or two more, fearing indigestion should I eat my fill and nodded. 

The Count had left the father's case beside the banister, and it cut a lonely shape. His travelling jacket and hat were atop it. I rose to collect them. Still considering how I might do what would be required.

"I will... I will bring him here under the pretenses of having found some means of escape." I told him.

"And then?"

"Then you will have what you require, and we will part."

"I do look forward to seeing how you manage it- But Sophie!" He called as I had begun away, his voice carrying to me across the vastness of the room. "-- If I find you are in some way going to cheat me I will show you the meaning of regret." Though I had no intentions of any such thing this threat sent a chill through me.

"I-I understand."

"Yes, I think you do." 

* * *

_ April 10th 1897 _

It was by then some early hour of the morning, so I have marked the separation of the day here as I continue to record. Though it was certain to be the tenth, it was many hours before light.

Upon reaching the door I felt a surge of fear that when I opened it, father would not be behind it. 

"Papa. Can you hear me?" I counted several beats of my heart in the only lengthening silence. And in that time my mind envisioned many horrors. 'What if he had somehow escaped?' I knocked again, matching the quickening tattoo in my breast. "Papa!?"

"Sophie?" Came a muffled groggy cry from within. It sounded as if he'd been sleeping. 

"I'm coming in." I announced and pushed the key into the door turning the heavy lock. Hesitating before I entered to focus myself to do what I must.

Upon entering, I searched for my fathers shape only to see nothing. Until a movement upon the corner of my eye caused me to turn. Father held up a candelabra, unlit and raised up as if ready to strike me and I flinched back.

"Sophie!" He said, as if really surprised to see me and lowered the weapon looking agitated. "You're alone?" He with darting eyes as if trying to catch shapes in the shadows of the hall behind me.

"Yes."

No sooner had I assured him of this I was tackled into an embrace.

"Oh! I feared you were dead! My Sophie, my precious Sophie!" The flood of emotion was more than I was prepared for, transported through his embrace to once again being a child in his arms. I might have lost my will completely when the Counts word returned, as fresh as if he whispered them in my ear. If you try to cheat me... I was once again myself, forcing myself to be censured.

"Papa... Please we- we haven't much time." He withdrew to stroke my face and I drank in the hollow of his cheeks and eyes with another pang. Fuelling my urgency and resolve. 'Soon he will be gone from here recovering! Beginning a new life.' Mina's picture was tucked above my heart and I felt it there more sharply. 

"You silly girl!" He hadn't been listening. "Locking me here like some invalid! You could have been **hurt** , or killed!"

"I wasn't! But if we don't hurry we'll both be done for." Finally, he seemed to register my words, his eyes quickening again only just as they seemed to have stilled.

"You found them? The others?" I cringed at the fanatical light in his eyes but saw my opportunity and grasped this as a means to use this to my advantage.

"Yes, and we've devised a means for escape. Only we must hurry. I've brought your coat, and your hat here." I opened his coat to him. Pressed by my apparent urgency he began to don it and I felt hopeful at least that this seemed to be working despite the bitterness the lie left thick on my pallet. Before he could ask me another question I took his hand.

"Come on!" And we were off, but it was some distance to our destination and only his legs were occupied, not his mind. There was a small section of castle which we passed that a slat afforded a view of outside and here his gait arrested.

"Sophie! It's dark!" He blurted, locking my stride as sure as his.

"I- I know that's why we must hurry." I tried to bring him forward but the fear was taking root in him now.

"He thrives in the dark Sophie! He could be watching us now. We- we must wait till morning." He began to pull me, back pedalling but I dug my heels in.

"NO!" I surprised us both by my shout, but the panic emerged like a belch and I could see how my expression must have alarmed him and I tried my best to assuage this slip. "No.": I repeated, forcing my voice calm. "It's - it's all been arranged. We're in no danger for now. Please, trust me." I could see his suspicion and uncertainty rising and his Adam's apple bobbed, his eyes roving my face.

"I do trust you my dear." He said quietly, breaking my heart further if possible. He followed then, silently but It was now an unspoken weight. A betrayal, that's what this was, and somehow no less cruel despite my reasoning for it. 

When we emerged to the dining hall I was relieved at first that the Count was nowhere to be seen. In fact **my** travelling cloak was carefully folded at the back of the chair as if I had left it there myself. I moved towards it and as I picked it up the letters slid from beneath it.

"What's that?" And then before I could answer he'd spied the food upon the table now drawing flies. "The food Sophie! You're sure we're quite alone?"

“No, not quite." Came the casual pronouncement of the Devil in question from behind me.

"It's alright papa!" I tried to calm him, but he was pulling me. Resisting, I pulled my hand free from his stumbling nearly into Dracula but caught myself and turned to my side so my back was not to him either. My father's eyes flew wide to him, then to me in a panic and something more to those round wide eyes.

"He got you." He said, certain as he tore his eyes from me to Dracula, his vehemence surprising me. "What did you do to her?" I opened my mouth, but found myself unable to speak, apparently I didn't need to. Dracula appeared behind his shoulder, his hand falling upon it.

"Maybe you should take a seat ." There was a small issuance of alarm which escaped his thin lips like a squeak. His arms waved like a jerked puppet as Dracula, with a single grip upon his shoulder pushed him into the seat where he crumpled back looking half the man I knew him to be, his clothing looking twice the size upon his small frame.

"Pop your hocks, eat some cheese. You're going to want to hear this. I know I do." He said clapping his hand on his sagging frame as he circled behind the chair to face me and offering me a shade of a leer.

"Nothing yet, I assure you."

"Leave him alone." I could not bear this degradation. Dracula removed his hands as if chastised. I struggled to gather my thoughts, but to be honest I had been flying purely upon desperation, but now I was to get to the worst of it. The part of most pivotal importance.

I outstretched my hand to take my fathers unable to keep the tremble from my own as I did, I did what I could to ignore that presence which receded a little out of my sight, no longer a vulture looking down above us and allowing me a breath as the predatory bird turned to the flames within the hearth. 

I remembered then what I had held to my breast and withdrew it now to show him. 

"Do you remember?" He looked at the image but I could see the answer there before he even spoke.

"Your governess? What does she have to do with this?"

"Not my governess- Your fiancé Mina. Mina Murray . Do you remember?"

"Mina of course I remember **Mina**! But that can't be-" As he began to deny it, his mouth twisting to do just that he stopped suddenly short and a blank horror deepened the lines of his face as his eyes locked to mine. "Why can't I remember her face?" Tears stung my eyes, his fingers were slim, skeletal in my hand, I feared crushing them in my grip and had to force my hand to loosen despite my yearning to cling to him.

"It's alright. It's alright because you're going away and you're going to get better." This thought, now spoken aloud, was the only one which kept me going.

But this fragility was not to last, despite the shrinking of his body his, mind was fuelled by whatever fervour tainted it and it flared again.

"Whatever he's told you, Sophie, he's a liar. He's the devil himself!" His nails bit into my hand. His blue eyes were only more striking having sunken within the sockets. I forced my voice steady. 

The Count has agreed to let you leave, to see a doctor. I did not lie when I told you I found a way to leave... Only I won't be coming with you." 

"You can't expect me to leave you." He said almost scoffing.

"You know that's what I said." Dracula interjected, an unwelcome reminder of his hovering attention. "I am just as eager as you to see how she might convince you."

"That will be quite impossible." He asserted vehemently. Then returned to me resolutely his focus. "Sophie **I won't leave you here** ." His chin jerked stubbornly out and freeing my hands he clutched at the arms of the chair beginning to force himself up and turn. Determined to speak to Dracula. "You can have me! Count Dracula **please**. She wasn't even meant to be here!" This earnest plea fell upon deaf ears. The Count seemed absorbed by the fire and hardly looked away to answer.

"Yet here she is. And you know I wouldn't have it any other way." there was the shade of a smile upon the cheek exposed to us.

I struggled to reclaim his focus. I needed to **make** him understand.

"He will have us both father, or he will have me. Take your freedom-!" I had begun, hoping to reclaim his attention, but that too was dashed.

"-And go to your precious Mina, and have fat happy, golden replacements." Dracula interjected crassly causing my father to bristle, hopelessly stealing the attention and focus I required to sway him.

"Well I won't! Do you hear me? I simply... Can't Sophie I can't." Dracula sighed and withdrew from the fire. The letters which I had re-stacked and replaced upon the table he now strode to gather up. He neatened them with a little tap and caught my wordless helpless. 

"Please." I mouthed it, but I know he could not have missed it, but I saw no refuge in that gaze as he took up the little fat stacks and sighed.

"Well that's too bad." He said and wordlessly moved over to the fire. 

'My god' I thought. ' He's throwing them in !'

I knew if he did any hope of our deal struck would be truly lost to the ashes. We would all be lost. I sprang up.

"No! Don't!" Abandoning my father's side I lunged to withhold him. "Please, not yet." I begged and his dark gaze slid to mine conspiratorially his brow raised as if in invitation. Almost as it had so long ago upon that piano bench and I realized he was giving me at least a last chance. I gaped for a moment like a fish, facing away from father. All of us were in danger, if I should fail, and therein I remembered the crux of my argument.

"Papa ! Think of Mina!" Dracula's mouth twitched with a shadow of approval which I marked before straining to give my father a desperate look which was not entirely insincere.

"Of course I love Mina, but I could never-"

"She means-" Dracula interrupted loudly, and in the tone of absolute boredom. "What will Mina do when she hasn't heard from you? It would be such a pity that her searching would lead her straight here. To think Sophie worked so hard on these letters only to watch them burn. But it matters not to me, since either way I can look forward to company in the coming months." 

Father finally understood.

"She- She has nothing-" He sputtered.

"If she comes here, I suppose that won't matter much. I do love grieving widows, I'll even let her stay in your room. To think I'll get to take her piece by piece in the same bed I took you."

"She, she might not come."

"She will when I send word of your illness. Such bad luck to not make it in time of course. I can put you in the same box if you'd like. I think I can fit two of you. You'll have to choose, would you prefer to be with Sophie or with Mina?" Then he shrugged, my grip doing nothing to prevent him from leaving the letters to flame. "Either way, I suppose we won't be needing these anymore, It was a good try Sophie."

I saw the flames dancing in his eyes and that he was about to truly set them alight, was there to a barest shade of disappointment in the soft lines around his eyes?

"Wait."

It was barely a whisper but it dropped like a leaden weight within the room and every part of me sunk with it. 

Dracula lowered his hands, the letters safe still from the flames and his head tipped his expression one now of open interest as if he didn't quite believe he'd heard it himself. But there father was, now releasing his chair back he sunk back into the seat disappearing from my sight and I went to him quickly.

My spirit numb, and forcing a false pleasantry to my face. I went to the arm of his chair, to touch him. To assuage him that it was the right choice. The words were on my lips. The lie already an echo sounding in my head and heart. But before I could touch him he half rose from his chair, gripping arms with his fingers digging desperately into the flesh.

"Sophie- Sophie your cross! We can get away." He hissed the unmistakable tearing of his sanity evident by his eyes.

It would have been impossible for the Count not to hear him, and even if he hadn't. . . Any false pleasantry of my face could not have been maintained then. I felt it myself, falling away like a sheet of glass, leaving the emptiness exposed as any façade shattered.

"No Papa, there will be no, cheating him." I said, my voice emerging for the hollowed place within my chest. "Vow now to keep your silence and leave this place without looking back. Vow to send the letters as he desires. Swear on my soul, or **I** swear to you that I will rip off this charm and let him have me now, rather than be forced to watch you die."

The terrible twisted desperation of his face, seemed to break as a fever might, and he looked at me as if for the first time as a man might with clarity of thought. His blue eyes against my ashen resolve drank in for the first the absolution of my intentions. 

His mouth moved. First upon empty air as if his very breath refused to release them. Then again, this time with sound.

"I swear." His hand slackened, and he sat back and his gaze too followed as if the mind within, pulled fraught now snapped and the spirit tethered was set aloft. The shadows seemed to flicker as if by its passing, and I was left chilled as he sagged as if being made of nothing more than bones within sagging flesh.

"Say it properly Jonathan, I'd like to hear it." There was something melancholy and I saw the lazy shadow stretching across the floor lighted by the fire.

"You heard it as well as I, he swore!" There was something more terrible about my fathers face now than I'd ever seen it before. The shadow stretching over the floor moved to engulf us as the vulture again perched upon the backing of the chair, his eyes despite not being turned to the fire still dancing with their idol hedonistic light as if he'd plucked up two coals and replaced eyes with their pits.

"Let me hear you say it Johnny." He repeated, venomously he continued, the snake driving the poison home as he leaned in. "Say you'll leave me your precious little Sophie, and when I go to London to drink my fill you'll bury you'll head in the blessed blonde curls of wedded bliss."

"Must you be so cruel?!" I asked, I was stung myself when my father's voice emerged surprisingly steady and strong though his eyes remained unfixed and glazed. 

"I will keep my silence, for Sophie, and for Mina." Dracula's chuckle was that of unfurling smoke suffocating my father and I both.

"Some lawyer you turned out to be Johnny." He batted my father's face with the stack of letters before releasing them. They fell apart and slipped over his shoulder and down into his lap, two landed upon the floor. And numb and stupid I sat back on my heels to regather them again. 

By the time I held them up, they were being smoothly removed by the very hand which had just released them, a vague noise like wind being taken out of someone emerged as I looked up to see the count had thrown my father, like a sagged sack of potatoes over his shoulder. 

"Well a deal is a deal." Dracula hummed and I looked up to see his face held no pleasure at my success, no gloating, but rather it too was pressed with an almost abstracted melancholy. 

"Wait please!" I begged, scrambling still upon my knees as he began to stride by me.

"Time is of the essence I'm afraid!" He called back cruelly continuing. Father's shirt brushed me, as I turned, rising, and reaching but it was too late. His hair trailed behind him, drifting like a plume of fairy dust which languidly drifted behind as if suspended in time or slowed by the molasses of grief thick upon the air. With each step my father was wasting, and diminishing. 

I would not even be allowed a last embrace. 

“Papa! Papa I'm sorry. I love you, I love you." His head raised, This is the last image I have of him, his mouth moving, eyes vacant and despairing. 

* * *

Knowing I was the source of that pain, that vacancy will never leave me. Did his mouth move, I thought I saw the beginnings of something... but I cannot be certain. Whether it would be to return my affection or to curse me I am even less certain now. 

I sat and cried, at the table, and when I could not cry I wrote my record and found myself crying more now for having finished. 

Did I do the right thing? I thought so, but with each moment I am less and less certain. I wonder if I have not done what Dracula could never have done. He might have killed my father... but would he have broken him?

I wait now for my end in both self loathing and absent pain. 

Any end to this might be welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't fret!  
> It's not over yet!
> 
> I decided to part this out into series chunks. Don't be surprised if the title changes as I consider the series to be titled 'Reserata Carcerum'.  
> How do you guys feel about poor johnny ultimately? I think anyone can be pushed given the right circumstances...  
> Unfortunately poor Sophie didn't quite consider the ramifications of being pushed past ones own limits despite her earnest desire to act to save her father. Some things are worse then death aren't they?
> 
> As for me, family time has come to an end, but I'm still trying to juggle an extremely busy month at work and play catch up for the time lost with visiting fam. Hopefully I'll be able to get the second sequence going soon. 
> 
> Much love to everyone who comments. Seriously, I go back and re-read them when I'm slogging after a really tiring long day and it gets me motivated to keep going :)
> 
> Edited 11/07/2020


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